Pretty Boy
by Wagamama Hime
Summary: When he got up to go to work that day, Spencer Reid, a young Las Vegas exotic dancer, did not think he would become a witness to a horrific murder. He didn't think he would be pulled into the FBI's investigation. And he definitely did not think that this killer would ever come back. Spencer just wanted his life to be easy. But Agent Derek Morgan's come along and messed it all up.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello all! Welcome to my first Criminal Minds fanfiction, a nice little MoReid A/U fic. I say "nice" mostly jokingly because this story has a strong rating so I hope I don't have to forewarn you that naughty things like language, smut (boyxboy to be exact), violence, and other mature things are guaranteed to run amok. But I hope you're here because you're fine and dandy with things like things like that, just like me ;).

Also, I want to stress this is an A/U, so by design (I believe) characters necessarily tend to be OOC. I don't really believe in "OOC" for the purposes of A/U, in any case, but I figure why not "warn" for it from the get-go. I will be taking artistic liberty with things like characters' ages, their background stories, who's in the BAU at the time, and things like that. But I hope it will make for an interesting read, not send people packing, haha.

Lastly, I also don't really see myself "warning" for every chapter if there are things like sex, language, violence, etc. because, again, you saw the rating when you clicked the story. However, because I do respect people's personal traumas I _will_ try my best to warn if a chapter includes anything like "triggers" (FYI this story will reference abuse, assault, etc.).

I'm really looking forward to taking this journey with you guys! Let me know what you think.

XOXO

**Chapter 1**

Spencer sighed as he began prepping his room for his next client. The one before him had been a disgusting pervert, but at least he finished quickly and had been a generous enough tipper.

_Everyday, more fucking perverts_, he thought to himself. _But at least when they shoot their loads early I can say I made the same amount of money for less work. _

He shrugged to himself as he smoothed out the black satin sheet over the small bed tucked in the right-hand corner of the room. He righted the plush velvet chair, making sure it sat right in the center of the room, facing the large glass window that was, currently, hidden behind deep red curtains. Walking over to the small vanity that took up most of the left side of the room, he pulled out the drawer of toys and quickly replaced the ones he had just finished cleaning from the last session. He lingered for a bit, frowning as he stared into the drawer, remembering what the last man had wanted him to do with those things. Shaking his head and letting out a dissatisfied huff he shoved the drawer shut. At least the next customer would be his last of the night. After this he could get dressed in his regular clothes, head for the bus stop and, hopefully, make it back to his little apartment on the outskirts of Vegas _before _2a.m this time.

Looking up into the vanity's mirror, Spencer grimaced a bit at his outfit.

_Why do I feel more naked wearing these types of things than when I'm standing in my birthday suit_? He wondered to himself as he ran his hand over his clothes.

Ignoring the white-button down and red-tie he wore under matching suspenders, he reached down to adjust the tight black short-shorts that barely covered his bottom. He then straightened the knee-high red socks he wore with his black converse high-tops. He was supposed to be a "schoolboy." Looking at his long, side-swept bangs and close-cropped hair, accompanied with a youthful face, he figured he probably fit the part. However, he doubted most innocent schoolboys had such jaded eyes…

Pushing away from the vanity (and the image he saw there), he continued tidying the room, thinking to himself about the things he'd have to do in just a few minutes. He had had this next customer, Mr. Victor, a few times before and knew what the man liked. He liked to play "naughty"—Naughty Teacher; Naughty Soccer Coach; Naughty Doctor, the list goes on. He liked Spencer in "innocent-looking" clothing and wanted Spencer to play the part, too. However, Spencer didn't mind him all that much. This guy wasn't particularly kinky in what he asked Spencer to do, and, besides, he often didn't even need Spencer to take all his clothes off. For Mr. Victor, the fantasy was almost always enough to get him off. Spencer just had to fill it in with some imaginative dialogue and teasing body language. Spencer knew how to do that.

Feeling satisfied that the room was in order (and that the customer would not be offended by the thought that he had been performing for and laying his affections on anyone _else_ that night), he picked up a bottle of Windex and began to make his way over to the heavy red curtains. _Gotta make sure I remember to clean the windows, _Spencer thought to himself.

Remembering it distastefully, the last customer had wanted Spencer pressed up to the glass as he performed for him, so Spencer wanted to make sure that the window was spic and span for his next session.

As he approached the curtains he could see slight movement through the small gap between where the curtains met. Tilting his head to the side in surprise, he wondered to himself, _Did Mr. Victor get here early?_ Glancing down at his watch, he saw that he still had almost 15 minutes before his session was set to start. Sighing in frustration, Spencer realized he couldn't properly clean the window if the man was there. As soon as the curtains were open, Mr. Victor (as any guest would) would expect a show. But, he wondered, what the man was doing waiting there so early. That was unlike him… Moving slowly up to the gap between the curtains, he leaned forward and peeped through. But his blood ran cold at what he saw.

At first Spencer wasn't quite sure he was making sense of the scene in front of him. He could see the back of a tall man in a long, black trench coat (which stood out as odd to Spencer, seeing as how it was May in Las Vegas) and what appeared to be someone seated in front of him, but this person was obscured from Spencer's view. The black-clad man's build, while not exceedingly large, made apparent that there lay a powerful and muscular body under the coat. The man's dark hair was cut into a buzzcut, and Spencer followed the skin of the man's thick, muscular-looking neck to some type of intricate and sprawling tattoo that peeked out of the man's collar. This was definitely not Mr. Victor.

The man, back still facing the glass, reared back and raised his left arm in the air and that is when Spencer saw the glint of metal and what looked like movement from in front of the man. Before Spencer could take a breath, the man swung downwards and Spencer could see the seated person jerk and flail, arms twitching and leg convulsing. Spencer stared in horror, his voice frozen in his throat, as the man in black stepped to the side of this person revealing the grotesque aftermath to Spencer.

There was Mr. Victor, seated in the normal viewing chair, but he was slumped over and a large knife was protruding from his forehead. Spencer stared, dumfounded, into the man's open and lifeless eyes as blood dripped down his brow and off the tip of his nose. Spencer watched as, calmly, the stranger walked past his victim and out the doors of the viewing room, not stopping even once to look back at the destruction he had left in his wake.

Still locked in a stare with the dead man, Spencer began to feel a burning sensation in his chest. He had stopped breathing. The painful lack of oxygen kick-started his brain and Spencer suddenly took in a large breath. Then he screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

* * *

><p>Spencer was still screaming as a number of people rushed into the room. He didn't know who was there or what they were saying, but soon someone was grabbing him by the arms, trying to talk to him. Unable to look away from the murdered man, Spencer watched, almost remotely, as someone drew back the curtains and more of the scene was revealed. As other people started screaming, Spencer pushed out of the arms that were holding him and away from the exposed scene. He didn't want to see anymore.<p>

Feeling arms on him again, and someone turning his body so his eyes could no longer fall on the gruesome scene, Spencer finally snapped back to reality. Staring up in to the face of Axel, one of the older show-boys, Spencer tried to make sense of what was being said to him.

"Spencer! Spencer! Hey, look at me! What happened here? What's going on?" Axel asked in panic. The dark-haired boy's brow was furrowed in concern as he saw the panic clearly etched on to his younger-friend's face.

"I-I don't know," Spencer breathed out, "I… I just, I saw someone and he… Oh, God, he killed him. Oh God!"

Before Axel could say anything else, he was being pushed out of Spencer's line of sight by Lindy, one of the club's managers. Lindy, although small and blonde, was one of the toughest people Spencer knew. He knew that if anyone would handle this, Lindy would.

"Spencer, listen to me kid. Do you know who it was who did it? Was it one of your regulars?" she asked briskly, her green eyes narrowed and sharp.

Spencer just shook his head quickly, in the negative.

"So you have no idea who it was? You never saw the guy before?" she persisted.

"N-no. Never," Spencer said softly.

"Ok, hun," Lindy said as she helped the boy shakily get to his feet. She signaled to Axel and one of the females to help hold the boy up.

"I want you to get out of here, ok? Go to the prep room and just get your bearings about yourself and you can just go home hun. You don't need to be here for any of this," she said to him soothingly.

"B-but, what a-about Mr. Victor?" Spencer asked, refusing to look over to the window where three or four of the employees were still standing expressing their horror.

A guarded look came over the older woman's eyes as she placed her hands reassuringly on Spencer's shoulder.

"Look," she said, "we…we're going to get this guy out of here. You don't know who he is and if the police show up here and have to interview every one of our customers it's going to just be bad for business. So…we're going to just dump him outside or something, and the police will come across him eventually. We just… we can't be caught up in this mess, sweetheart."

The room fell quiet as everyone realized what Lindy was suggesting.

"We… No, you can't be serious. We have to call the fucking police, Lindy! Someone was _murdered_ here! It just as well COULD have been one of our customers! There's no way to know!" Spencer almost shrieked, the hysteria apparent in his voice.

"Look, kid," Lindy said sharply, all semblance of comfort now gone from her voice. "If you still want a job here, you'll do as I say. I can't have the cops thinking people get murdered here. And I especially don't want them sniffing around. As much as _we_ know, this could be completely unrelated to anything this poor bastard was doing at our club. He might've just owed somebody a big debt and couldn't pay up. So, you better heed me when I say to keep your little trap shut. You hear me?"

Spencer flinched at the harshness of her voice, and felt the urge to challenge her but stopped when he felt a slight squeeze on his shoulder from behind. Turning around quickly he could see Axel standing beside him, and the look in the older boy's eyes told him to not press it. Glaring at Lindy, Spencer huffed in frustration and stormed from the room.

Stumbling down the hallway, Spencer felt dizzy and his heart was racing in his chest. Axel tried to call out to him but Spencer pushed him away mumbling "I'm fine." All around him Spencer heard the panicked voices of the other workers as they buzzed around the hallway, but it was as if they were coming through cotton. He kept walking, straight past the prep room, and burst into the bathroom.

Pushing open the door of the first stall he saw, Spencer stumbled over to the bowl and collapsed on his knees. In mere seconds, his head was hanging over the bowl and he was vomiting. When he finally emptied the contents of his stomach he pushed himself back from the bowl and ran his hands over his face. Feeling wetness there he pulled his hands back. He was sobbing, and he hadn't even known it.

_What am I supposed to do_? Spencer thought to himself in complete panic.

He felt conflicted. He had never seen a dead body before—he figured most people hadn't. But what bothered him the most, and what he was sure precipitated his sickness, was that he was supposed to act as if nothing had happened. He couldn't do that. A human being had just been coldly and brutally murdered right in front of him.

_I can't just let them hide the body. The police will never know what really happened_!

Steeling himself with resolve Spencer quickly shoved his hand into his pocket and retrieved his old beat-up cellphone. Without giving himself the chance to think about the consequences, Spencer quickly punched in the familiar three numbers and waited for the line to connect. Within seconds he heard, "911, what's your emergency."

Whispering, Spencer quickly rushed out "I'm at the _Mon Petit Chien_ on B-Burgundy Drive. I-I think someone's been murdered here. You have to come! Quick!"

"Excuse me, sir? Did you say someone's been _murdered_?" the woman asked.

The bathroom door slammed open and Spencer jumped, startled from his position on the floor.

He quickly ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

"Spencer, you in here? We're worried about you, man," he heard a voice call.

_Axel_, Spencer thought as he unlocked the bathroom door.

The other boy looked at him strangely and Spencer quickly remembered to wipe the remaining tears off his face. Giving him an understanding look, Axel patted Spencer on the shoulder.

"Look, Lindy was right. You should just go home. Don't think about this anymore, ok? I know it's hard but… you just can't dwell on stuff like this. We don't need the cops snooping around. It's not good for any of us. Come on, let's get your stuff and get you out of here," Axel said to him.

Spencer nodded silently, unable to agree with him but also unable to tell him the truth. Spencer let himself be led out of the bathroom and down the hall to the prep room. As Spencer made his way over to his locker and began to retrieve his belongings under the watchful eye of Axel he heard commotion coming from the hallway. Axel glanced at him and said "Hey, you'll be ok in here right? I don't know what that is, but I'm going to check it out. Stay right here." And then Axel was gone, hurrying down the hallway towards the noises.

After having kicked off his shoes, Spencer robotically began to step into his jeans, not bothering to change out of his "costume" for the night. Suddenly he heard doors banging in the hallway and voices shouting "POLICE!" His eyes widened and he dropped his bags as a uniformed officer stormed into the room.

* * *

><p>Two hours later all the employees of <em>Mon Petit Chien<em>, one of Las Vegas' more notorious exotic dance and peepshow clubs, were lined up in the main stage area, being questioned by LVPD about the dead body found in one of the peepshow rooms. Spencer stared down at his hands as he listened to what was going on around him. Lindy was currently talking to the lead detective, purposefully being loud enough for her staff to hear, and Spencer knew that it was a clear warning for them all to "fall in line" with the story she was telling.

"Detective Stone, we have no idea who this man is or how he ended up this way. As I told you before, the rooms aren't assigned to any one specific dancer. So we have no way to know who the man was going to see. But what I do know is that no one was in there when this man was killed. So no one of my staff can be of any particular help to you in _how _he came to such a tragic end. We discovered him after the fact and… and we were all just so shocked we didn't know what to do."

"Ms…Roth," Stone said in a gravelly voice as he glanced down at his notebook for confirmation, "please don't take offense to this when I say I smell a load of bullshit here." Lindy visibly flinched at the man's tone.

"You want me to believe this was all some innocent misunderstanding? When we arrived it appeared pretty evident that you had these three guys" Stone said as he gestured to three men standing to the right of Lindy with his thumb, "getting ready to move the fucking body!"

"Listen, sir, I admit that it may look suspicious but we had _nothing_ to do with this man's death. We panicked and we thought we were doing the right thing by moving him! We had no way of knowing if he was alive or not. I had these good boys in there to check to see if that man was still alive!" she argued back.

The detective rolled his eyes with a huff, then scanned the line of approximately 20 employees, his eyes landing on each individual briefly. Spencer willed himself not to look away once the man's eyes landed on him, and soon Stone had continued on down the line.

"So, which one of you called the police, huh?" he asked.

Everyone stayed silent and no one looked up at the police. Spencer was thankful that it didn't seem anyone looked at him either.

"Someone here decided to be a good Samaritan huh? But all of a sudden cat got your tongue?" Stone asked angrily. "A man was _murdered_! One of your fucking clients, I presume. And, what, suddenly the cash cow stops and you can't be bothered? Miserable fucking lowlifes!"

An officer walked up next to Stone and whispered something in his ear, cutting the man's tirade short. Spencer watched carefully, now that Stone's attention had been diverted, and saw the man's body tense in response to whatever he was being told. Stone then nodded at the officer and sent the officer on his way.

"For now, you all have dodged a bullet here since none of you had any noticeable blood or other trace evidence on you when we examined you. Most of your alibis check out, but I hope I make myself clear when I say not a single one of you should be thinking of skipping town. We will almost surely be interviewing each of you again to get to the bottom of this. And if you make this difficult on us, we'll make it difficult on you by shutting this cesspool down. Do I make myself clear?" Stone asked, and pointedly looked at Lindy. "And I hope I also don't have to let you know that business is closed for the night. You all better hurry on home."

The petite woman gave the detective a tight smile as she nodded. As Stone turned around, Lindy shot a meaningful glare at Spencer causing the boy to flinch. Spencer had hoped he had said enough (or said _little_ enough as Lindy would've liked it) to have pleased Lindy and to keep his job here. When the cops had questioned him, he had lied through his teeth. He said he knew nothing about the 911 call; hadn't seen the body; and had no knowledge as to whether or not Lindy, or anyone else at the club, were attempting to remove the body. He thanked his lucky stars that, although the rooms _were_ assigned to individual performers, there was nothing in there that could identify him. And he had never been more thankful that his the entirety of his duties at this club took place behind the safe protection of a glass pane because nothing that was in the viewing room could link him to the crime. So, he hoped that was enough for Lindy not to come after him and make good on her threat to give him the boot.

As he followed the throng of employees who were heading towards the prep room to pack up their things and leave for the night, he made sure not to meet anyone's eyes. Now that the police knew, his guilt had been lifted and Spencer decided he would leave it to them. He wasn't about to lose this job that he had worked so hard to find. He was finally in a place where he felt at least _some_ semblance of safety. He didn't need to be anyone's hero. No one had been his. He had learned it was best to just keep your head down and stay out of anyone else's way. He wasn't going to stray from that mantra anytime soon.

* * *

><p>Watching the motley assortment of 'performers' file out of the main stage room, Stone couldn't help but sneer. As an LVPD detective, he knew that a lot of what happened in Vegas was questionable, and things only got worse once one stepped into the realm of more sordid pleasures and pursuits. He had heard things about <em>Mon Petit Chien <em>but, truthfully, a place like this was low on his list of priorities. He had bigger fish to fry in his city. Sure, some of these performers looked suspiciously young, and he had heard reports of assaults, drug use, guns, and the like. But the managers knew well enough to stay off his radar. And as long as they did so, Stone didn't have any cause to step foot into the red-wallpapered walls of this establishment. Until now, that is.

Ruminating over the information his subordinate officer had given him, Stone cursed to himself. _There was a cross branded into the back of the victim's neck sir. In addition to signs of choking, the blade used was similar to the other cases in the database. The crime scene tech says she's confident in saying it's a signature. _

As Detective Stone walked out of the building he quickly retrieved his phone and dialed a number. Once the individual on the other side picked up he said only one thing, "Get me the FBI."

* * *

><p>AN: Ok, yay, first chapter done! Sorry it was so much…Spencer and a bunch of people we don't know yet. I'm just 'setting the scene.' Obviously, the fabulous BAU brigade will be introduced in the next chapter. Don't worry if you're unimpressed with the few named OC's I threw in here, as well. They're honestly not important and I don't have much intention on developing these characters so I didn't give much in the way of describing them here. They served a needed purpose of facilitating the discovery of the body, and if they are mentioned again they still won't get any back story. Haha. It's about Spencer & Derek, guys!

And although I only gave some cursory descriptions of who Spencer is and the life he lives, don't worry: more will be explained in detail as the story goes on. You haven't missed anything. It was intentional. The real interesting things will start to happen next chapter. Yay!

Lastly, I'd love to hear what you guys are thinking so far. I have some really interesting places I'd like to take this story (it could actually be pretty lengthy), but sometimes we think we're more interesting than we really are (haha), so I'd like to just hear from anyone who has anything to say about it.

Until next time!

~WH~


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

A/N: Thank you to all of those who have read, reviewed and/or subscribed! I'm so happy you seem to like where I'm going and are looking forward to reading more. Means a lot :). But, now I'm nervous and don't want to disappoint you all O_O. Haha!

I am also tossing the idea around in my head of maybe taking on a **beta reader**. Not for grammar/spelling, but specifically as someone to bounce things off of and see if my plot is progressing sensibly. Seriously, as I'm writing I keep thinking to myself "is this a gaping plot hole?" or "does this make sense?" Haha. So, I'm looking for someone who is a _good_ writer, not necessarily a grammar Nazi. So, if you think you might be interested and have the qualifications, please drop me a private message.

_Lastly_, I just wanted to make a quick note about my **update schedule** and to say that… there _isn't_ going to be one. I can't make any promises like "I'll update every Sunday" or something because that puts too much pressure on me and I'll feel like a jerk if I don't deliver. What I _will_ promise you though is that I'm writing this story pretty actively (basically, a chapter every two days so far) and had already written 3 chapters when I posted the first. So, I've set up a "schedule" for myself in that once I finish a new chapter (remember, 3 chapters ahead) I'll _post_ a new chapter.

Now, with that said, let's continue!

~WH~

* * *

><p>~One Week Later~<p>

"Ok, everyone, we have a new case," Agent Jennifer Jareau said as she briskly walked into the Behavioral Analysis Unit's conference room, followed by Penelope Garcia, the Unit's Technical Analyst. While Garcia began passing out the case files, J.J. looked over the other four agents seated in the room as she picked up the remote and clicked the power button.

As Garcia took a seat at the round table, the room's occupants all focused in on the images that quickly appeared on the large flat screen TV.

"I have been in communication with a Detective Ryan Stone of the Las Vegas Police Department after he contacted me a week ago with news that there had been a suspicious murder within the city limits. Stone believed that the murder may be linked to a serial killer the Bureau's been chasing for over five years now because of the very particular state of the body," J.J. said as she clicked the remote again and an image of the victim's body appeared on the screen.

"The victim has been identified as Victor LaRoux. He was found murdered in a private viewing room at _Mon Petit Chien, _a Vegas strip club. LaRoux doesn't seem to have a particularly murky past, but I have Garcia doing some digging on him to see if anything will give us an idea as to _why_ he was targeted. What stands out most about this murder, however, is how the body was found. The markings on his body are consistent with the Unsub the media has previously christened the "Judgment Maker." J.J paused as she heard the murmurs of displeasure among her colleagues.

"As you can see," she said as she clicked to an image that showed a close-up of the victim's head, "a cross-mark was burned into the back of the victim's neck. As with the other cases that have been attributed to the Judgment Maker, the coroner is uncertain what kind of instrument was used to cause the burn, but she does know that it was done ante-mortem, similar to the Judgment Maker's prior victims. Furthermore, there were markings around the victim's neck that are consistent with the theory that this Unsub chokes his victims before killing them, but that the choking is _not_ the cause of death." J.J. said as she clicked to another image of slight bruising to the victim's neck.

"Hmm, I remember hearing about this "Judgment Maker." Agent Emily Prentiss began with a slight eye roll as she said the name, "He's the guy who we think might use the choking to initially subdue the victim, or might be choking to satisfy some type of need-driven behavior, right? I think one theory was that he chokes the victims until they confess to something he's looking for. Then, after he gets his answer, he completes his ritual by marking them and then stabbing them in the forehead?"

Confirming Emily's words, J.J. clicked to another image showing a large knife handle protruding from the victim's head.

"Most of you were not a part of the Unit when the Judgment Maker's first kills began to surface," Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner filled in. "He's a somewhat prolific killer who crosses state lines and has significant dormant periods between kills. So far we have had eight kills—that we know of—that fit the M.O of this killer spanning multiple states. We have not yet been able to build much of a profile on this individual. It seems that he most likely not working at the direction of anyone else and is seems to be a mission-oriented killer. He kills quickly and stealthily, and no one has ever seen him during the commission of his crimes. However, this current case is interesting to us because the Detective on the case believes someone may have seen the murder."

"Why's that?" Agent Derek Morgan asked, looking up at his Unit Chief with furrowed brows. "The report doesn't seem to say anything about there being a complaining witness."

"That's where I come in, stud muffin!" Garcia piped in with a bubbly voice. "So, apparently this Judgment Maker guy usually kills in really secluded places, like in the house of a victim who lives alone, or in an abandoned parking lot; he even once killed someone in a church confessional late at night. So no one's ever been around to see him. But this case is kind of different because he killed the current victim in a strip club that was relatively full of people."

"Ok, so someone in the club must've seen something right?" Derek asked.

"Actually, that's not exactly the case. While the club was moderately full of regular customers, the murder took place in a private viewing room." Hotch said as he nodded to J.J, who clicked the remote again, causing an image of a small room to appear on the screen. The image showed what appeared to be a lighted and staged bedroom behind a glass window pane, a solitary chair placed directly in front of this window, and a door at the back of the room.

"In reality, the owners of the club are claiming that no one was in the room at the time of the murder—not even the performer who was scheduled to meet with LaRoux. In addition, the club doesn't have any security cameras." Hotch continued.

"Not surprising," Senior Agent David Rossi said with a scoff. "I don't know any "establishment" of this type that would want any kind of permanent record of what goes on inside its walls."

Prentiss shot Rossi an amused look, causing the older agent to shrug unapologetically.

"Well, that's where my skills have been put to use," Garcia interjected. "Contrary to what the club's management is saying, the detective on this case believes someone _did_ see what happened because a 911 call was received." J.J then clicked a button and the sound of a hushed, breathy whisper filled the room: _I'm at the Mon Petit Chien on B-Burgundy Drive. I-I think someone's been murdered here. You have to come! Quick!_ It was impossible to tell much about the person on the recording, even the person's gender.

"Of course, before any of you ask," Garcia continued once the recording had ended, "_yes_ the LVPD did try to trace the number from which the call originated but apparently the person who made the call used a phone that wasn't on a traditional service plan. It was one of those month-to-month type phones and there was no contract associated with it. Basically, it came up like a burner phone.

However, your magical tech-kitten-goddess-of-all things-knowable was able to back-trace who the owner is by digging into the numbers the person called the most. I found some things like regular calls to the strip club, some bill-collecting agencies, and a number of takeout joints. Using this information, I was able to narrow the owner of the phone number down to a certain geographical area and to someone who was more than just a customer at the strip club. But, the most important little tidbit of information—and what made me able to deduce with certainty to whom the phone belongs—was that the majority of all the calls made from that phone were made to a Bennington Sanitarium in Las Vegas.

"The only person who is at _Mon Petit Chien_ regularly, lives within a 5 mile radius of the 6 regularly-called takeout places, has some serious debt issues and knows someone at the Bennington Sanitarium—namely his mother—is one Spencer Reid. Please turn your attention to page 10 of your case files," Garcia said smugly.

"Spencer Reid?" Derek said with confusion as he flipped to the page in question. What stared back at him was little more than a blurry blown-up picture of a Las Vegas license plate, featuring the image of a somber youth with light brown hair. He couldn't make much of the image and returned his attention to the chipper analyst.

"So, who's this kid and why is he the one who made the 911 call?" Rossi asked.

"Well, from the snooping I was able to do, it appears that Spencer Reid is a 19-year-old "employee" of this club. Apparently he's been working there for two years and it looks like maybe _he_ was the pretty little filly that our dead victim was going to see that night. Since he made the call—and he's the _only_ one who made a call—I'm thinking he was probably the first person to see the body." Garcia offered.

The other agents in the room all muttered to themselves in agreement.

"Wait a second," Derek said with a frown. "Did you say he's been working there for _two_ years?"

"That I did, my dear," Garcia said as she cringed, a frown forming on her red painted lips. "You are both beautiful and brilliant, and ever observant. Apparently Spencer here was working at this club since he was at _most_ 17."

"How… is that possible?" Prentiss asked.

"Well, from what I could see of their business records…" Garcia quickly glanced at her supervisor who was giving her a stern look, "which, I…uh… shall not divulge to you how I gained access to those… Um, from the records it appears that the ID they have on file for him shows his age as currently actually being _21_. But, I made sure to double-check. Since the kid is a Las Vegas local and his birth record is on file he's _definitely_ currently only 19. So, I dunno what you guys are going to do with that, but I'm guessing this business is involved in some shady dealings."

"Well… if this individual was working there and he was underage, that is strictly a state law matter. It doesn't impact how we go about this case for the time being. What's most important is that this Spencer Reid character may be a vital material witness and we need to speak with him. We have been chasing down this "Judgment Maker" for almost five years and if there's any chance that Spencer Reid saw anything about the Unsub that could possibly lead us to him, it's imperative that we know it. We're heading to Vegas. Wheels up in 30," Hotch said as he stood to his feet.

* * *

><p>After arriving in Vegas, Hotch was quick to divvy up duties. He would stay at the precinct to begin setting up a relationship with the local police. Prentiss and Rossi were set to head over to the Medical Examiner's Office to get a better look at the victim's body. And Morgan and J.J. were assigned to pick up Spencer Reid, who was currently working a shift at <em>Mon Petit Chien<em>.

Stepping out of their government-issue black Suburban, Derek and J.J. surveyed the scene around them as they approached the doors. Although situated in the middle of a large parking lot that seemed to be surprisingly full for 4p.m. on a Monday afternoon, _Mon Petit Chien_ appeared to be a small building from the outside. It was also noticeably nondescript in the services one would could hope to find inside, save for the little dogs and small windmills, ala _Moulin Rouge_, painted on the doors. There were no electric neon signs broadcasting "Live Nude Girls," no "XXX" markers, or anything of the sort. The two agents wondered to themselves how anyone _knew_ about the _Mon Petit Chien_ if they didn't attempt to advertise.

Smiling stiffly at Derek and shrugging her shoulders J.J. said "Shall we?"

"Ladies first," Derek said as he grabbed one of the doors and held it open for J.J.

The first thing they noticed when they stepped inside was that there was no "club" initially. What lay before them were red-painted walls and a steep flight of stairs leading into a dark sub-level from which pumped bass-heavy music.

"Hmm, guess that explains why it looks so small from outside, huh?" J.J. asked as she placed her hand on the holstered weapon at her hip and began to descend the steps, unsure of what she'd find at the bottom. Morgan followed behind her, doing the same.

At the bottom of the steps they came upon a set of glass doors, in front of which stood a brawny-looking muscle-bound man in a tight black t-shirt, who was obviously serving the function of a bouncer.

Flashing their badges silently at the stoic man who nodded at them and pushed the door open slightly, the two agents walked into the club. Immediately they were bombarded by the sights and sounds. Their gazes took in the large room which stretched out in front of them, the plush gold and red carpets on the ground, the vintage-looking and well-stocked bar at the far-left of the room and the large black stage and catwalk which sat in the middle of the room. The stage, currently empty, was adorned with light bulbs running its entire length and a tall gold pole at the end of the catwalk.

Scantily-clad women and men peppered the floor as they flirted and conversed with clients seated in plush velvet couches. Waiters with trays full of drinks weaved briskly in between the assortment of furnishings as they hurried to deliver and take orders.

There were probably about 60 people in the spacious room, and no telling how many others in unknown parts of the building. Derek and J.J. knew they would be there forever if they had to question every single patron and/or employee. Derek glanced at J.J. and nodded towards the bar. J.J. nodded in agreement, seeing a tall man with dark, coiffed hair standing behind the bar and dutifully wiping glasses. The bartender was always the best source of information.

Moving away from their spot by the door and making their way through the throngs of people, J.J. and Derek quietly observed their surroundings. This didn't seem like an ordinary club. Unlike an average strip club where the socioeconomic status would range from people barely able to manage the cover charge to get into the club, all the way to the "big spenders" who stunk of money, all the patrons here seemed to fall closer to the side of "wealthy." They all seemed well put-together and some wore noticeably pricy or high-end clothing, jewelry and shoes. The employees, as well, while scantily clad were all better than above-average in the looks category, and seemed to have put quite a lot of effort into the maintenance of their hair, skin, nails and teeth. This seemed to be a 'select' group.

Finally arriving at the bar where it was, thankfully, not as loud as on the main floor, Derek waved the bartender over. Setting down the glass he had been cleaning the tall man strode over. Glancing at Derek and J.J. and taking in their attire, the man's brown furrowed. Nonetheless he smiled at them and asked, "What can I get you two?"

Flipping out his badge, Derek responded, "Information."

The bartender visibly cringed but didn't seem to be making any plans to bolt, so Derek continued.

"Supervisory Special Agents Morgan and Jareau." Derek said as he motioned to himself and J.J. "We're with the FBI. First of all, I want to know what kind of business you guys are running here."

"Hmm," the man said as he shrugged and averted his light green eyes. "It's just your average strip joint, Agents. Vegas is well-known for them."

"Your _average_ strip joint is never so busy in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday when there's not even a single dancer on stage," J.J. said, her voice showing her annoyance. "Plus, all your clients seem pretty high-class here. I wonder what it'll do to them if we raid the place and all their names end up in the paper. No publicity is bad publicity, right?"

The dark-haired man paled.

"Hey, hey now. We're not doing anything illegal here. So what if our clientele is a little high class? They pay good money and we provide them with high class merchandise. Doesn't that just make sense?" he asked.

"What does a lap dance go for around here?" Morgan asked.

The bartender frowned, and looked at him uncertainly. "I don't know. At least $100 a dance."

Morgan whistled in surprise, causing J.J. to look at him.

"Is that a lot?" she asked.

"Hell yea!" Morgan said with a laugh. "I'd go broke at a place like this. But…you wouldn't get it. Why don't you just let us guys talk?" Morgan said as he gave a meaningful look to J.J. Her eyes showed her understanding. She then made a big show of rolling her eyes for the observant bartender.

"Fine, whatever. Why am I not surprised that you would know something like that? You can be such a pig, Morgan. I'm going to go try to get some _actual_ work done," she said as she pushed away from the counter and made her way over to some waiters who were talking further down the length of the bar.

Once J.J. was out of sight, Morgan turned back to the bartender. Hoping to turn his charm on the defensive-seeming man, Morgan smiled at him conspiratorially.

"So, my man, I hear they have some Grade-A private shows in this place. You know, a place where it's just you and a girl in a room and she'll do whatever you ask for you?" Morgan questioned with a grin.

"Yea," the bartender said as he leaned back a bit, appearing to be more relaxed now that J.J. was gone. "They're downstairs on the second-level."

"How much does one of those sessions cost?" Morgan asked.

"Well, the standard half an hour rate is $300. Then it's more if you want…I guess we'd call it "ala carte" services. You know, if you want them to get a little freakier?" the bartender said, mirroring Morgan's grin.

Morgan made a show of glancing around the room and looking at the girls. He then whistled again.

"And could I have my choice of who I wanted here?" he asked.

"Well, not all the workers here do the private rooms. Actually, it's rare that someone works the main stage _and_ does the private shows. The times overlap, you see? Our main strip shows start around 9 and go til about 2 am. That's the same time the private rooms have their sessions. We only have about 12 workers who do those shows, and they're all in a book kept by our managers. Only the real serious customers get to look at it, though. And sorry to say, man, but you don't sound like you could afford it," the bartender said good-naturedly.

"Aw, man," Morgan laughed, pretending to be wounded by the man's comment. "Look, some of these women are just downright gorgeous. And we men can always make something work if we want it badly enough, am I right?" Morgan asked as he waggled his eyebrows at the man, causing the bartender to laugh.

"So, each room is basically assigned to a specific girl, right?" Morgan followed up.

A look passed across the bartender's face and he paused before saying, "Well…girls _and_ guys, if you're into that. We've got about four regular guys who perform in addition to the girls."

"Oh, I get it man. No problem. It's not like I couldn't tell this club was equal-opportunity. I've never seen so many dudes in short shorts before. It was pretty obvious that the customers aren't only interested in the girls here," Morgan said as he shrugged.

The bartender nodded in agreement.

"So, do me a favor here," Morgan said as he glanced around the room, eyes only briefly lingering on J.J. who was chatting with a few girls in sparkly outfits, "where would I go to find someone named Spencer Reid?"

The bartender looked at Morgan in surprise and before Morgan could ask why, he heard someone slam something down on the counter next to him.

Turning to his right, Morgan saw a tall boy wearing nothing but a red bow-tie, black suspenders, and black shorts lean over the counter, a serving tray clutched in his arms, and say, "Hey, Jimmy, I need 3 martinis, two cosmos, and a club soda."

Gesturing with his thumb, "Jimmy" said, "Spencer Reid? He's right there?"

Upon hearing his name, and realizing Jimmy had paid him no attention, Spencer spun around and locked eyes with a tall, handsome, and clearly fit black man. Spencer stared at him, wondering who this man was and why he was looking for him.

Derek, on the other hand was quite surprised by what he saw. The ID he had seen in his case file didn't do the kid justice. Messy-looking bangs and short hair, beautiful hazel eyes accented by what he thought was eyeliner, and a surprisingly plump-looking diamond-shaped mouth, were the first things his eyes laid sight on. He couldn't help the quick sweep his eyes took downward to take in the boy's bare chest which was lightly dusted with some type of glitter and, while skinny, was defined with muscle-tone. His eyes lingered momentarily on the small brown nipples that peeked out from behind the suspenders and then dipped lower to stare in surprise at the dangerously low pleather-like shorts. His eyes couldn't help but note that the kid also had long, equally toned, legs that disappeared into knee-high boots. Quickly regaining his train of thought before he could wonder what the kid looked like from behind, he snapped his eyes up to lock on to the boy's and cleared his throat.

Fishing out his ID, he flipped it open, displaying his credentials. "You're Spencer Reid? My name's Agent Derek Morgan and I'm with the FBI. I'm going to need you to come with me and my colleague down to the LVPD to answer some questions."

The boy's eyes widened slightly, but Derek could also see tension form in his shoulders.

"What do you want with me? I already talked to the police. I don't have anything else to say." He spat while locking a glare onto Derek.

Derek blinked in surprise, not expecting such a hostile response from what had, only moments ago, seemed to be a harmless kid.

Sighing, and signaling behind him without looking over his shoulder, Derek said, "We're not the _police_, kid. We're the FBI and we've got some different questions to ask you."

Spencer watched with mild interest as a pretty petite blond with large blue eyes appeared next to Agent Morgan.

She looked at him with intrigue but smiled once she caught his eyes.

"Hi, I'm Agent Jennifer Jareau, and you must be Spencer Reid, huh?" she asked kindly. "I'm sure my colleague here explained to you that we need you to come down to the station to answer some questions, right? So, why don't you and I go get your things and Agent Morgan here will explain to your boss that you need to leave work early, ok?"

Derek was surprised that as soon as J.J. appeared it seemed that the kid's hackles had calmed back down and he looked at J.J. with what appeared to be contrition.

"Um," Spencer said, his voice now soft, "I… I'm really going to get in a crap-load of trouble if I leave work tonight. Plus… it's really going to be an inconvenience for me. If I don't work I don't get paid…"

Derek was almost certain he had seen the kid blush.

J.J. smiled at the boy reassuringly and asked, "When is your shift over?"

Spencer bit his lip and said, "Well, I'm usually working until 2, but I really need to be here to prep for when my real shift starts at 9."

It wasn't lost on Derek that the boy had mentioned a "real" shift, and that the waiter role he was playing now probably wasn't his entire job. He'd put money on the bet that the real shift Spencer was referring to was most likely the peep show in which Spencer, he was almost certain, was one of the performers.

"Ok," J.J. was saying, "Well, the sooner we get you in to the station and you answer our questions, the sooner you can come back, ok?"

Spencer made a face that seemed to say he felt like he really had no choice but to agree with J.J., so he nodded silently.

"Great. So you have some clothes you want to change into before we go?" she asked him, as she gave his outfit a cursory glance.

"Y-yea, I've gotta go to the prep room." He told her, as he subconsciously crossed his arms over his bare chest.

"No problem. I'll have to come with you, though, ok?" She told him. She then glanced at Morgan and said, "Make sure you square it away with his manager ok, and I'll meet you back at the car."

Morgan was about to protest but J.J.'s look seemed to tell him that she thought she'd do better with Spencer if she was on her own. Morgan frowned but shrugged his shoulders and said, "Ok, I'll meet you out there. But be quick about it."

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, after Morgan had had a particularly difficult conversation with the general manager on duty—a "Lindy Roth" who seemed more concerned about the lost revenue she'd suffer if Spencer wasn't back on time than she was about the gravity of the fact that someone had been murdered within her business less than a week ago—he was standing outside by the Suburban waiting on J.J.<p>

His ears perked up as he heard soft laughing and what he knew to be J.J's distinct giggle. He watched as the two walked out of the club and was surprised by how relaxed Spencer seemed to be with J.J. He also couldn't help but think to himself how surprised he was about how different Spencer looked in his 'street clothes.' A vast divergence from the scantily-clad individual he had seen mere moments before, the Spencer that strolled up to the vehicle was wearing faded baggy blue jeans, beat-up looking black Converses and a white t-shirt underneath a worn-looking gray cardigan. He also had what looked to be a well-used leather satchel slung over his chest. It wasn't what he expected from an experienced exotic dancer.

Looking up from J.J., Spencer met Derek's eyes and gave him a dark look. Derek flinched and again wondered why the kid seemed so defensive around him. He rolled his eyes however, and made his way around to the driver's side of the car. _I don't have time for this kid's shit, _he thought to himself. Opening the door and climbing in, he waited until Spencer and J.J. were situated before he turned the key in the ignition. Backing out of the spot, and starting down the road, he listened in contemplative silence as J.J. and Spencer continued to chat.

For a brief second he met Spencer's eyes in the rear view mirror and noticed how quickly Spencer looked away. _This kid's an enigma_, Derek thought to himself and continued on his way to the Las Vegas Police Department.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry to cut it short there. I had wanted to get into the interrogation in this chapter, but then I figured it was going to get pretty long. So I shall save that for chapter 3! If it isn't apparent, I know very little about Vegas (I've only been there once and I did not spend my time skulking about strip joints lol) and I have no idea if they have "private showrooms" like the type that I'm describing anywhere in Vegas. So, if I seem to be talking nonsense, allow me some artistic license here haha.

Lastly, about the "BAU" and the timeline here: the only thing I'm keeping to is probably the differences in ages (I'm still not sure if I'm going to make Derek 8 years older than Reid (like in the show) or 10 years (like in real life, haha)). You guys can think of this group of profilers (people like J.J., Morgan, Prentiss) as relatively "new" to the BAU (maybe only working in the BAU for the last 2 or 3 years, since I want that to be somewhat consistent with a plausible FBI career (however the show does some pretty implausible things in this area, anyway). But Hotch and Rossi are still the seasoned professionals. And, yes, J.J is in her "profiler" role here, but I still see her acting as a liaison (I doubt she'll be communicating with the press at all in this story, but I saw her liaising role as also being the one who gained the trust of victims/witnesses and made it easier to talk to the less-empathetic "profilers"). So, that's the BAU-verse this story takes place in.

See you next time!

~WH~


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

A/N: Thanks for all your reviews, favorites/subscriptions, and general support! :) And happy belated Chanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, and "Holidays" in general! At least I got this out before the New Year! Yay! Have a good (and safe) NYE to all of you who are going out.

Happy Reading!

xoxo

* * *

><p>Derek Morgan stood silently next to his Unit Chief as they watched the interview that was just getting underway through the two-way mirror. Hotch had decided that J.J. and Prentiss should be the first to take a crack at the scrappy teen after seeing how relaxed the boy had seemed to be in J.J.'s presence.<p>

"Hey, Spencer," J.J. said as she sat down and pushed a glass of cool water across the table to him.

"As I mentioned to you before my name is Agent Jennifer Jareau, but most of my friends call me J.J. I'd also like to introduce you to another colleague of mine, Emily Prentiss," J.J. said as she motioned toward the dark-haired woman who had also taken a seat across from Spencer.

Spencer shyly graced the two women with a small, forced smile.

"Spencer, we have a few questions to ask you about the murder that took place at your club about a week ago," Emily said, giving him a kind look.

Spencer looked down at his hands.

_I just need to stick with the story I gave the cops. Hopefully they'll just let me go once they realize I know nothing. _He thought to himself, and then glanced back up at the two kind-eyed women. His eyes shifted back down to his lap, and he felt a pang of guilt for lying to them, but _they_ weren't going to pay his rent when he was out of a job...

"Yea… well, I heard about that happening." He said softly, eyes still trained on his clasped hands. "But, I wasn't there to see anything. So, like I told Ms. Jareau back at the club, I can't help you guys."

Emily and J.J. shared a perturbed look. Emily then placed a file softly down on the table, the soft sound in the otherwise silent room enough to cause Spencer to glance up.

"Well, Spencer, we all know that that's not quite true, is it? " Emily said, staring at the boy with her discerning dark eyes. "Someone made a 911 call that night, and we have a technical analyst who's very good at her job. She was able to find out, with certainty, that the person who made that call was _you_."

Spencer's eyes widened at he stared at her. He then frowned.

_Shit, shit, shit_. He thought, panic quickly starting to set in. _They know I lied and now I look even __**more**__ suspicious_.

"Ok… well, so what if I called? No one else was doing anything. I… I just figured that the police needed to be involved, you know?" Spencer said, quite defensively.

J.J. furrowed her brows.

"But, Spencer, did you feel like you had a responsibility to call because maybe _you_ were the one who discovered the body?" she asked gently.

"No!" Spencer said adamantly. "I didn't see _anything_. I just called because everyone was talking about it and _someone_ needed to do something, ok? That's all."

Spencer then leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. He purposefully avoided eye contact with the two agents, seeming to find the plain steel table suddenly fascinating.

Sensing that they were losing their once-compliant witness, the two women decided to change the subject.

"Ok, Spencer," J.J. began, putting her hands up in a placating gesture, and then clasping them in front of her, "why don't you just tell us a little about what happened that day? You know, like when you got to work, what you did, who you spoke to, etc."

Spencer glanced up at her and bit his lip. Averting his eyes for a second, he then leaned in and sighed.

"O-ok… So, I got to work as usual around 2pm. I was just serving drinks to customers all day. You know, like what you saw me doing at the club earlier..." He told her, his eyes flickering to hers and then quickly away.

J.J. blinked at him.

"So, that's all you do there? You're just a waiter?" she asked him.

Spencer blushed a bit and dropped his eyes to his lap. He couldn't bear to have them look at him with disgust and judgment, like he was some kind of whore. He didn't want them to know what he really did at the club and there was no reason he had to tell them.

"Yes. I mean, I don't…strip on a pole or anything, if that's what you're asking…" he mumbled.

_Not exactly a lie_, he thought to himself, as he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth.

Emily and J.J. exchanged another look, before looking up at the two-way mirror and shaking their heads. They weren't born yesterday and knew that, for some reason, Spencer was reluctant to be forthright with them. He had a lot of tells—one of which they were currently observing as he absentmindedly nibbled on his bottom lip. However, they hoped that with a bit more prodding, and if they somehow got him to relax, he would open up.

"Ok, so tell me about the people you talked to that day," Emily continued.

* * *

><p>"He's lying," Hotch said flatly as he observed the interview in progress. Morgan nodded silently in agreement. They hadn't needed the signals from Emily and J.J. to pick up on that. Everything about the boy's body language, lack of eye contact, and defensiveness showed that he was hiding something.<p>

"I don't think this kid had anything to do with the actual murder, but I'm not sure _why_ he's hiding what he knows. It's obvious to me that he likes J.J. and Prentiss, but his eagerness to have them like _him_ seems to be making him somewhat embarrassed about his profession. You don't think he's _just_ a waiter, do you?" Hotch asked Morgan.

"Nope," Morgan said as he picked up their ever-growing case-file, recently supplemented with additional information about the boy in question. "I talked to one of the bartenders there before the kid showed up and it seems like there are 4 men who perform in the private rooms. Although Spencer was only serving drinks when we got there, the bartender made it clear to me that none of the racy stuff really kicks off until after 9. When we were getting him ready to leave, Spencer made J.J. promise to get him back to the club before 9 so he could prepare for his "real shift." And he just told J.J. he doesn't strip on the poles, so, yea, I'd say he's trying to hide that from them."

"Hmm," Hotch said as he continued to watch the interview in front of him stoically, "it doesn't help us if his major concern is trying to give them a good impression of him. We need someone who can…'persuade' him to tell the truth, no matter how sordid it may be."

Morgan glanced at the older man, with a raised brow.

"I'm guessing you intend for _me _to be that 'persuasion,' huh?" he asked sardonically.

Hotch smiled slightly and looked at Morgan out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, don't tell me you're surprised?" he asked.

Morgan rolled his eyes.

"Nah, not surprised. But, I'd be lying if I said that the kid has warmed up to me. Every time he looked at me I was reminded of a cat who was preparing to hiss." Morgan explained, slight amusement entering his voice.

"Hmm," Hotch said after a moment of contemplation. "Well, that can be something we can work with as well. And now that you have the additional information Garcia has been able to pull up on him, I'm sure you can use it to put some 'pressure' on him."

"Got you," Morgan said as he gripped the thick file in his hand and nodded at his superior.

Thinking back on the nasty looks Spencer had given him, Morgan felt that "hissing cat" had been a very fitting description. Spencer's wide eyes, soft pale face, and pouty lips made his age so much more apparent—he appeared almost cherubic. But when those eyebrows furrowed, and anger flashed in those honey-colored eyes, Morgan could see that the kid could be a force to be reckoned with—when he wanted to be.

But for the life of him, Morgan couldn't understand what about _him_, in particular, set the kid off. It couldn't be merely that Spencer was a "fuck Authority" type of kid because he seemed fine with J.J. and they both worked for the Government. And he knows he couldn't have possibly said anything to have offended Spencer during their brief encounter. He had barely said two sentences to him before the kid had bristled. Rolling his eyes, Morgan knew getting anywhere with Spencer would be an uphill battle. But he also knew he was stubborn enough to keep pushing until he got what he wanted.

Morgan's attention was drawn back to the interview taking place in front of him as Hotch rapped twice on the glass pane, signaling to the other two agents inside the interview room. The two men watched as Prentiss and J.J. explained to Spencer that they needed to step away for a moment. The boy smiled politely at them and nodded his understanding.

As the two agents exited the room, Hotch and Morgan watched with interest as the smile slowly faded from the boy's face, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes dropped back down to his lap. This was a different Spencer.

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, Agent Derek Morgan walked into the small interrogation room. Glancing up at the sound of the opening door, Spencer's body language changed as he took in the sight of the older, mocha-skinned male. He hadn't taken much time to take stock of the attractive, self-assured agent when he had first come across him in the club. Eyes sweeping over the muscular man's body, he took note of the dark, charcoal-gray button down and black tie he wore, accompanied by black slacks. Everything was well-fitted and seemed to be of good quality. Even the man's goatee was perfectly trimmed. Obviously, he took pride in his appearance. <em>Everything<em> about him—down to the cologne he wore—screamed alpha-male. Bristling, almost unconsciously, Spencer sat up straighter and followed the man with his eyes, the same way wary prey would watch a predator.

As Spencer was watching Morgan, so too was Morgan watching Spencer. Spencer looked tense, and now that he was under brighter lights, the agent could see more clearly that there were dark circles under the boy's eyes. He was still wearing the dark eye liner, and Morgan could see errant traces of whatever glitter he had brushed on his body clinging to the boy's cheeks. These remnants of his club persona, which fit the boy so enticingly in the heady atmosphere of the club, now seemed so out of place with the persona that Spencer was reflecting now. The boy in front of him looked like he was late for a study hall meeting, not like he had moments before been playing a sex kitten.

Tearing his eyes away from the guarded-looking youth, Morgan purposefully ignored the boy as he sat down and began to dissemble the case file, pulling out reports, pictures, and other information that he would use to aid him in cracking the kid in front of him. Out of the corner of his eyes, Morgan could see Spencer shifting slightly as he tried to see what was on the sheets laid out in front of the agent. It was apparent that his inability to see frustrated Spencer. After a few more moments of nothing but the sound of shuffling papers filling the room, Spencer spoke up.

"So… what happened to J.J. and Emily?" he asked nonchalantly.

_He doesn't seem scared of me, _Derek thought to himself, _but he obviously isn't pleased about my presence_.

"Oh, so they're 'J.J.' and 'Emily' to you?" Morgan asked flatly as he finally looked up, meeting the younger man's eyes.

Spencer's face heated up, and his brows lowered into a glare. Morgan couldn't help but think that what the boy probably assumed was a threating façade in actuality was more akin to a petulant child pouting. If the kid wasn't being so difficult, Derek would have thought it was cute.

"Is this supposed to be the Fed version of "good cop, bad cop?" If so, I'd much prefer the ladies," Spencer said giving Morgan a deadpan look.

Derek scoffed at the boy's attitude, and returned an equally scathing look.

"I introduced myself to you before as Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan. _Agents_ Prentiss and Jareau have stepped out to deal with other pressing matters. So I will be continuing the rest of this interview," Derek explained.

Spencer sat back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest as he stared at Derek with an unimpressed expression. Derek knew that look well. He had seen it from a multitude of individuals, ranging from cops, witnesses, crooks, and even victims. It screamed, "I'm going to be difficult." But, Derek knew how to be difficult, too.

"First off," he said, ignoring Spencer's dismissive attitude, "you're lying about being a waiter at _Mon Petit Chien_. We looked at your financials and you make an average of $3400 a month. There's no way you'd make that purely on tips by waiting tables alone."

The transformation that took over Spencer's face upon hearing that news was almost instant.

"What the _fuck_!?" he snarled, "You people have been snooping through my financial information?"

Spencer couldn't believe how sneaky they had all been. And he couldn't help but wonder if J.J. and Emily had known all this too. He suddenly felt a pang of betrayal. Even though he didn't know the women, he had expected more from them…hadn't expected them to disappoint him like everyone else tended to do.

Derek ignored the outburst and outraged expression on the kid's face as he read over the bank statements in front of him. From what Garcia had been able to gather, he knew exactly what the boy did with his income. He spent $600 a month on rent for a tiny, dilapidated apartment on the seedier side of town. But the majority of his monthly income went to paying for his mother's care at the Bennington Sanitarium; a cost that ran him nearly $2400 a month. Other than that, Spencer lived on almost nothing and didn't even own a car. It was actually quite sad, Derek found himself thinking.

"We're the FBI, Spencer," Derek said looking back up into the boy's angry eyes. "And this is a Federal investigation. We have the right to look into the history of potential suspects."

Spencer's eyes widened at the word "suspect," and he felt his stomach drop.

"Y-you think _I_ had anything to do with…" he trailed off in shock.

"Tell me about what you do at the club," Derek said, ignoring the look of panic on the boy's face. "You made it clear to Agent Jareau that you don't strip on the main stage. So, would I be correct to assume you're one of the private showroom boys?" Derek asked, keeping his expression impassive as he studied Spencer's face.

Again, Spencer's face blossomed red at the mention of his profession, but this wasn't the same coy and shy blush he had showed when J.J. had talked with him. This was more a blush of anger and embarrassment. All Spencer could think was that this man was here to humiliate him—to rub into his face that he debased himself for money. Spencer felt anger boiling in his gut.

"I don't see why what _I_ do is any of your fucking business-" Spencer began, heatedly, but his words were cut short as Derek slammed his hand on the table, causing the boy to jump and stare at him with wide eyes.

"It's MY business if you stood in your little glass palace and watched a man be murdered and did _nothing_ about it! If you're _not_ the killer, then I will definitely have them charge you with obstruction of justice, in the _least_." Derek threatened, locking his dark eyes on to the wide-eyed boy.

"Obstruction of justice?" Spencer asked, incredulous. "_I'm_ the one who called the fucking police!"

Spencer's eyes widened at his admission. He then snapped his mouth shut and looked off to the side, angrily. This agent was bringing out the worst in him. Usually, Spencer kept to himself and kept his head down; only speaking when he _had _to. Things were easy that way. But, now, he couldn't keep his cool and he was spouting off, saying things he knew he would later regret.

"Spencer, we need to know what you saw. It's not enough to say you were being a Good Samaritan and called it in after the fact. We think you _did_ see something. And anything you remember—no matter how small it is—could really help us in catching this guy…. This isn't the first time he's done it, kid," Derek said, lessening the severe tone in his voice. He hoped he could appeal to the boy's conscience. He watched as Spencer glanced up at him, surprise evident on his face.

"So far, he's killed 8 other men—that we _know_ of. He's a bona fide serial killer, and until we catch him no one's safe. So, if you're scared for some reason and don't want to tell us what you saw because you think someone will retaliate against you, or maybe someone's threatened to hurt you, you can trust in us that we can, and will, protect you. _I'll_ protect you." Derek told him sincerely.

Spencer scoffed at this entreaty. Yet another cocky man trying to give him false promises. People always lied. And Agent Morgan was no different.

"Protect me? Yeah right." Spencer spat, locking eyes challengingly with the older male. "People like you aren't interested in protecting me. So, you want to know what I have to say to all _that _bullshit? FUCK. You."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Derek barked at him, causing Spencer to flinch.

The boy became silent but a different kind of darkness passed over his eyes. Spencer was more guarded now than Derek had ever seen.

"Don't you _dare_ talk about my mother," Spencer warned, seething.

Derek paused, realizing he had found an opening. His conscience didn't necessarily want him to go down this route, but he needed the leverage.

"Hmm, well," he said as his fingers ran over one of the documents laid out before him, "what _would_ Diana Reid have to say about this? I'm sure your mother doesn't know how you make your bread. But, you know, we need all the information we can get, and so when we go to talk to her—and we _will_ have to talk to her if you don't cooperate, Spencer—I can't guarantee that we won't have to explain to her what her coward of a son has been doing with his time. It's probably for the best that she's been committed to the Bennington Sanitarium… she doesn't have to look at what you've become," Derek said, feigning sympathy.

Derek watched Spencer silently as the boy's shoulders tensed and his lips curled back in a snarl. In the blink of an eye, Spencer was on his feet, hands slammed down on the table and looking like he was ready to lunge across the table at Derek.

"Stay away from my mother, you son of a bitch!" he screamed. "Don't you dare say anything to her! I swear to God, don't you dare!"

Derek held up a hand to the two-way mirror, sure that his supervisor was moments away from storming in to the interview room to subdue the erratic boy. Spencer's eyes were flashing, his face red with anger, and tension rolled off his body in waves. But, Derek was sure he could handle this, and after a few moments with no interruptions from Hotch (and nothing more than the sound of Spencer's heavy breathing), Derek continued.

"Take a seat, Spencer." Derek said firmly. "I don't _want_ to involve your mother. I know you're actually a good kid. You've never been arrested, never had a ticket—hell, you've never even had a late fine from the library. And while I don't know how you ended up where you are now, I know where you're _from_ and who you were before this. I know you're a certifiable genius, with an IQ of 187, and that you graduated from high school here in Vegas at only twelve-years-old. And I know how much you sacrifice every day to take care of your sick mother. You take _really_ good care of her and you should be proud of yourself, kid."

Although looking at Derek warily, and still with a high degree of distrust, Spencer seemed to have been somewhat placated by Derek's words and slowly lowered himself down into his seat.

"But, Spencer," Derek continued, "I think your mother would be disappointed if she knew you knew something that could save another person's life and you kept that information to yourself."

Not meeting Derek's eyes, Spencer was quiet for a moment as he chewed thoughtfully at his lip and played with the hem of his t-shirt.

_He's trying to manipulate me_, Spencer thought to himself. But, he also couldn't deny the truth to the agent's words. When had he become such a coward… and so jaded? He had always prided himself on trying to be his mother's superhero. When his dad left… and then when his mom's condition steadily began to get worse… And here he was, faced with an opportunity to help the authorities put a stop to a sadistic killer—the kind of job he would've dreamed of having when he was younger, and before all the problems… But all he was trying to do now was run away. He knew he was being selfish, but getting involved was _scary_. Spencer had always been risk-averse, and getting involved with the FBI would just bring a lot of problems. Unless he could get some guarantees.

"I…I can't afford to lose my job," he said suddenly as he turned wide honey-colored eyes on to Derek. "B-but, Mr. Victor wasn't one of the bad ones….a-and I think he deserves to have his killer caught."

"Ok," Derek said. "First off, why do you think you'll lose your job?"

"Ah…" Spencer stalled as he pulled his bottom lip back into his mouth, drawing Derek's eyes momentarily to the plump lip.

"I just… please, you have to promise you won't try to charge my boss with anything." The boy pleaded.

Derek's brows furrowed and he glanced briefly towards the two-way mirror.

"Did someone tell you not to report the murder, Spencer?" he asked the boy.

"She… well, she didn't think it'd do anyone any good if he was found inside. So she wanted to take him outside, but… she didn't want me to call the police. She didn't do anything wrong. And no one at the club was involved with what happened to him!" Spencer explained.

"Ok, ok. Relax. Before we get to that point, tell me what _you_ saw. And, please, use as much detail and tell me everything you can think of. Even the smallest thing could be important." Derek prodded.

Spencer sighed and gripped the table tightly. Looking down at his hands, he began to speak.

"It was… horrible. I was…um… I was preparing the room for the next session," he said, a slight blush forming on his cheeks, "w-when I saw movement from the other side of the curtain. Th-there's sometimes a little gap where the two sides don't quite meet. I was a little annoyed because I didn't think anyone would be in there so early… b-but when I went to go see what was going on…"

Spencer stopped and took in a deep shuddering breath. Seeing that the boy was struggling with the images in his memory, Derek leaned over and lightly placed his hand over the boy's white-knuckled one. This seemed to snap Spencer out of his reverie, and he quickly slid his hand out from underneath Derek's, clasping both his hands in his lap. He offered the agent a weak smile in exchange and continued.

"I…I saw the back of a tall man in a dark or black trench coat. I couldn't really understand why he'd be wearing something like that… it's so hot here, you know? But, um, he was strange. I think he was probably White, with very dark hair, cut short. I think he looked muscular from what I could tell and not particularly old.

And…he had some kind of tattoo on his neck? I could only see just a glimpse of it, but it was something that looked like swirls, maybe… For some reason, the tattoo seems familiar, but I know I didn't recognize him. He wasn't anyone I had ever seen before at the club. And…b-before I could blink he… he w-was raising his arm, and I saw something like metal. And then he sw-swung it down hard, and… ugh, oh _God_… he stabbed Mr. Victor in the head," Spencer said through gasps.

Derek watched the shaking boy, impressed that he hadn't succumbed to tears.

"Ok, Spencer, you did great. All that information will be really helpful to us," Derek told him.

"Yea?" Spencer asked, clearly not believing the agent, but glad that the man had distracted him form the images that had been called back to the forefront of his consciousness.

"You can't even begin to imagine. No one's ever seen this man before so now, thanks to you, we have so much more information about him." Derek said, flashing the boy a full grin.

Spencer flushed.

"What? But I only saw him from behind. I have no idea what his face looks like or what he sounds like or anything," he said as he furrowed his brow, confusion evident on his face.

"We know his race, approximate height, and that he has a distinct tattoo. We didn't have any of that before, and these can all help us track him down. You've been a big help, Spencer, believe me. I'm going to have you go sit with one of our sketch artists for a little bit so you can describe to him better what you saw, and then we'll have someone take you back to the club, ok?" Derek asked as he got to his feet.

Spencer nodded at him silently, seeming to be once again lost in his own thoughts.

* * *

><p>Seated around the conference table provided to them by the Las Vegas Police Department, the five agents discussed the facts of the case.<p>

"Well, we definitely learned some interesting things through the little he was able to tell us about the Unsub," Hotch was saying.

"I noticed something interesting," Derek offered, "Spencer mentioned something about the Unsub's attire and that it was strange for the man to be wearing a black trench coat in this heat. It just crossed my mind that the Unsub may have worn that coat specifically _because_ he intended to kill in a populated place and knew he needed to be concealed to get out unobserved. I wonder if he chose a black trench because blood stains would not be as noticeable on that type of fabric. Although the strip club is a variation from his usual locale, I think this wasn't an opportunistic kill. The trench coat, plus the knife and whatever he used to brand the victim with tells me that he planned to kill this man, and he didn't _care_ that it was in such a populated place."

"You're right," Emily said as she nodded. "This man definitely puts thoughtful planning into all his kills. And he doesn't make mistakes. It's not by chance that he's gone unobserved this whole time during his other killings. So, even though the strip club was a much more populated place than the locations of any of his previous kills, it can't be a coincidence that he committed the murder in a _private_ viewing room that has no cameras and is only assigned to one individual. This is in _addition_ to the fact that he performed it in the lull time in between sessions when the performers clean their rooms. Spencer even said it's uncommon for clients to be waiting there that early, so I'm thinking the Unsub must've lured our victim to get there early—maybe for a meeting or something? If so, that seems pretty damn planned to me. I just can't understand why he'd kill in a strip club of all places."

"That _is _strange," J.J. said. "But, for whatever reason, this Unsub chose this specific club. So he must be somewhat familiar with its schedule. And this club doesn't seem to be something that any average Joe off the street would know about. When Morgan and I were talking to the bartender we learned that the 'services' provided at this place are pretty high-priced. So, I'm wondering if this is one of those "word of mouth," you have to "know somebody" to get in types of places, or even if it's maybe by invite only?"

"Good point, J.J. That should be something we look into. Garcia?" Hotch asked, as he leaned over the phone that was sitting in the middle of the table.

"Yes, sir?" the tech's voice sounded over the speaker.

"Look into how patrons find out about this club and if there is any documented guest or member list," he instructed her.

"Right away, sir! I'll let you know what I find out ASAP," she said, and they heard the other line click.

The other agents murmured amongst themselves as they perused the case files until Emily let out a loud sigh drawing everyone's attention to her.

"I'm glad Spencer finally came clean," she said as she sipped at her coffee, "but, God, that must've been horrible to have to watch that happen. And worse yet that he wanted to report it but _management _told him not to."

Rossi nodded his agreement. "Yea, the kid seems pretty shaken up, but there's still something odd about how he's processing it. Like, he's compartmentalizing it in some way. It looked as if he had never even let himself really think about it until he was relating it to Morgan a few minutes ago."

"His story's so sad," J.J. said with a sad frown. "From what his file tells us, he's brilliant and was working towards a double-major bachelor's degree when he just dropped out at age 15. He was in his final semester and had so much potential. Apparently he was even expected to start a PhD program right after finishing up his undergraduate but since _that_ never happened, neither did the PhD. I wonder what happened to lead him to… _this_…"

Derek sighed dejectedly. He was feeling just as bad for the kid as his colleagues. But, in addition to the generally unfortunate state of Spencer's circumstances, Derek had a needling feeling that there was much more to this kid's story but that Spencer was hiding it. There were just certain things—the way he seemed to almost indiscriminately become attached to some people, like J.J. and Emily, but seemed highly distrustful of others, like Derek himself. And it didn't go unnoticed by Derek how Spencer had seemed to really dislike his attempt to comfort him by laying his hand on top of the boy's. Working in a profession like his, Derek would assume the boy would be used to being touched. Something just seemed… off. But, he supposed it wasn't his job to find out what made Spencer Reid tick. In reality, the boy's past had little, if anything, to do with the case at hand. He felt like that was going to be something he would have to continue to remind himself.

"Agent Morgan?" a uniformed female officer said as she knocked on the door gaining everyone's attention. "The sketch artist is done with that witness now. It's kind of amazing what he was able to remember about that tattoo he saw. Like he has a photographic memory or something. The artist was able to get a really good sketch. Anyway, the witness said someone told him he'd be given a ride back to his job. Do you want one of us to handle it?"

Derek quickly looked around the room at his other colleagues and got to his feet.

"You know what? Thanks, but let me handle it, ok?" he offered as he began to shrug on his jacket.

Hotch looked at his subordinate with interest, but merely nodded his consent and Morgan was out the door.

* * *

><p>The ride back to <em>Mon Petit Chien <em>was a silent one. Derek had offered to personally drive Spencer back to the club because he had thought that the boy had come to trust him a bit. He wouldn't go so far as to say the kid liked him and now they could hang out and discuss the Chicago Bulls, but at least he thought he was safe in saying Spencer no longer saw him as a "threat." But, now, he wasn't so sure.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Spencer hunched up against the passenger seat window, back to Morgan, staring listlessly out into the rainy night. His body language seemed as if he wished he were anywhere but there at the current moment.

_He obviously doesn't seem like he wants to be stuck in this car with me, but, at least he doesn't seem nervous or afraid_, Derek thought to himself. He'd take that as progress.

As Derek pulled into the parking lot of the club, he quickly pressed the lock button before the boy could hightail it out of the car. Shocked, Spencer whipped around to look at him with wide, confused eyes, body tensed and alert.

"Relax," Derek said as he put his hands up non-threateningly. "I just want to talk to you for a few minutes and I could tell that you looked like you wanted to jump out the car as soon as I parked."

Spencer pursed his lips and rolled his eyes, but the tension slipped out of his shoulders and he looked at Derek expectantly.

Derek had to suppress a smile. The kid definitely wasn't afraid of him. If anything, it seemed like he saw Derek as some type of huge inconvenience.

"So…for right now my boss has decided he's not going to pursue anything with your managers about the obstruction charge." Derek said and watched as Spencer visibly perked up.

"I can't say anything about whether Detective _Stone_ will pursue it on a state level or not. If he does, it's out of our hands. But, for the time being, we haven't exactly let him know that that's what you told us, ok?" Derek asked, hoping this would be enough to appease him. He didn't want Spencer thinking they had tried to trick him.

Spencer shrugged and nodded.

"Next," Derek continued as he reached into his back pocket and fished out his wallet. "I want to talk to you a bit more about what I said about protecting you."

Spencer followed Derek's hands with his eyes as the agent reached into his wallet and produced a business card. Handing over the small, white card to the boy, Derek continued.

"This is my number. If for any reason you feel uncomfortable at work—whether it's your coworkers, customers, or anyone else trying to hassle you, you let me know. If for some reason you think you recognize the man you saw that night back at the club again, you let me know _immediately_. If anything bothers you, or you feel something's weird, just _call_ me. I'm serious Spencer, no matter how dumb you may think it is, and whatever time of the day or night, you can call me. Our first priority is to keep you safe, kid. You did a really brave thing by telling us the truth and we don't take that lightly." Derek said, making sure he caught Spencer's eyes so that the message would be drilled home.

Unsurprisingly, Spencer averted his gaze and dropped his eyes down to his hands. He toyed with the card in his hand, reading the words and numbers in silence, and seeming to study them. But after a few moments, and with a sigh, he looked back up at the agent, whose dark eyes seemed to be imploring him to rely on him.

"Ok," Spencer said simply, making proper eye contact for once. "…Thanks."

Derek couldn't contain his grin.

Without another word, Spencer pushed up the lock on his door and stepped out of the car.

Derek watched as the boy disappeared into the dark building, wondering if he would really be ok.

* * *

><p><em>~3:15 a.m.~<em>

Derek groggily rolled over in his hotel room bed as he was jostled out of his sleep by the incessant ringing of his cellphone. Blindly reaching out to the bedside table and grabbing around in search of the phone, Derek's hand finally landed on the object of his current ire.

"Hello?" he asked gruffly as he glanced at the alarm clock.

"U-uh… Agent Morgan?" he heard a soft voice come from the other line.

"This is Morgan," he said, suddenly more awake, and wondering why that voice sounded familiar. "Who's this?"

"Um… it's Spencer… uh, Spencer Reid? From earlier. Um, you said I could call you if anything… 'weird' happened, and I don't know if this is the type of thing you meant, so…" Spencer rambled off.

"Hey, hey. Kid, it's ok. I said you could call me about anything. So, what happened?" Derek asked, sitting up in bed and flicking on the bedside table lamp. He was more than a little surprised to be receiving a call from Spencer. He had assumed the boy would've just tossed the card away as soon as he was out of his eyesight. But something was obviously amiss. The youth's voice contained none of his previous biting sarcasm. He seemed genuinely interested in the agent's help.

"I just got home a little while ago and there was a box outside of my door." Spencer began. "I didn't pay much attention to it and went to take a shower and stuff, but when I finally opened it, there were flowers inside."

"Ok?" Derek asked.

"…and there was a note." Spencer responded. "The note said: 'You were watching me, and now I'll be watching you.'"

Jumping out of his bed, Derek said, "Stay where you are, kid. We're on our way."

* * *

><p>AN: So this story is feeling way more like a crime drama than I ever intended it to! I never thought I'd write a "case fic" and really was just using the Unsub story as a way to develop a relationship between Spencer & Derek. I didn't even think out my killer's M.O. that much until I started writing… But, as of right now, all I seem to be doing is developing the _case_. I dunno why I find this type of stuff so fascinating (maybe it's because I used to be a criminal law attorney (such a bad life decision, lol), but I find it hard to describe the facts of a case shoddily).

Anywho, from the next chapter on (_hopefully_) the story will give less focus to the "Judgment Maker" as a character and more on the development of some MoReid. I'm excited about that. Are you? ;)

xoxo


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

A/N: As usual, thanks again for everyone's comments and favorites/subscriptions. It's a pleasure to hear from you and I'm glad to see you guys are all enjoying it :). Most people seemed to actually _want_ me to stick with giving equal attention to the Unsub story (O_O), so I'll try my best to make that good for you guys. I guess this is officially now a 'case fic.' Also, I finally got my beta-reader, so I'd like to thank Eskimita for being such a helpful sounding board! Now back to the DRAMA!

~WH~

* * *

><p>It was a quarter to 6 a.m. and the five-member team of BAU agents stood tiredly assembled around the tiny living room of Spencer Reid's one-bedroom apartment. The boy in question was currently huddled in a corner of his old, lumpy couch, nestled under a fleece throw, which had been pushed on him at J.J.'s insistence upon seeing how tired he had looked when they first arrived. Lost in their postulations and hypotheses, the agents didn't seem to be paying him much attention, so he listened with curiosity as they discussed the case and how the unexpected gift played a role in it.<p>

There hadn't been much that they had been able to gather from the gift left for the boy. The package had consisted of half a dozen long stem red roses left in an inconspicuous long white box. There were 15 other tenant-occupied units in the building and the agents had gone (quite apologetically) door to door to see if any of the neighbors had seen or heard anything. Unfortunately, no one had, and there were no security cameras in the old building. There was no doorman and it seemed that most of the people who lived in that building were quite dedicated to living their lives with their heads down. They had also asked a member of the Crime Scene Unit to see if there were any prints or fibers that could be lifted from the box, but none were found.

Garcia had tried to see if there was any information that could be used to find where the flowers were at least purchased, but everything about the gift was ordinary. There was no wrapping paper, no commercial insignias, and nothing to even indicate how long the package had been sitting at the boy's front door. The team concluded that the Unsub probably hand-delivered the package. He wouldn't have been sloppy enough to leave a paper trail by having a floral company do it for him. Nor would he have been unaware that there were no functioning security cameras in the building. And it wasn't surprising to any of them that the man had worn gloves while handling the package.

Hanging up his phone after having given Garcia some additional leads to follow up on, Hotch turned to his team. Everyone looked tired, but more than anything, they were _frustrated_. It was rare that they would be chasing an Unsub who they knew _nothing_ about, and even rarer to find one that was bold enough to continue to act right under their noses like this.

"Alright everyone, I don't think there's much more we can do here. I'll let you all head back to the hotel for a few more hours of sleep, then we'll regroup at the precinct and see where we'll go from there," Hotch announced.

The agents nodded and murmured amongst themselves as they began to gather their bags.

Sighing to himself, Derek sat down on the arm of the kid's beat-up old couch and turned the white card around in his fingers again. Glancing at the words printed there, he felt that they could literally mean _anything_.

"'You were watching me, and now I'll be watching you,'" he read out loud, gaining the attention of the other agents and the boy who was curled up on the couch behind him, trying, unsuccessfully, to fight sleep.

"Chances are it _is_ the Unsub, but what if Spencer has other "admirers?"" Derek asked, glancing at the sleepy-eyed boy. "Because the person went to so much trouble to make the package as plain and un-personalized as possible, I'm just not sure we can say for certain that it's the Unsub, at the exclusion of others."

"N-no one from the club knows where I live," Spencer mumbled, sitting up a bit more.

Turning around to look at the tired youth, Derek sighed.

"I know you'd like to think that, kid, but people can find out whatever information they want if they look hard enough or are willing to pay for it," he explained. "Can you think of any past clients who were especially fond of you? It'd be helpful if we can get a list to weed them out, just in case this isn't related to our case."

Spencer looked around the room, and could see five pairs of eyes looking at him expectantly.

Sighing and pulling the throw he had laid over himself up to his nose, Spencer mumbled, "There isn't anyone _like_ that."

Derek furrowed his brow and seemed ready to fight the kid on the topic, and explain to him that this wasn't the time to be embarrassed, but J.J. intercepted him.

"You know what, everybody? It's really late, and Spencer hasn't slept at all tonight. Why don't we let him get some rest and if he thinks of any names he'll tell us in the morning. Does that sound good to you Spencer?" she asked as she smiled at the boy. Spencer nodded quickly from under the blanket.

"And you have a day off from work tomorrow, right? I'm sure the rest and relaxation will help you think clearer. And you know how to reach us if there's anything you need us to know," J.J. told him.

"Why don't you head to bed now, Spencer? We'll make sure everything is in order out here and we'll lock up behind ourselves," Emily said as she motioned to the boy.

Nodding, Spencer groggily got to his feet and the agents couldn't help but chuckle a bit as he stumbled.

"See, you're really tired, kid," Rossi pointed out.

Spencer gave them a slight smile as he began to make his way to the bedroom at the back of the apartment.

"Hey, Hotch? Don't you think someone should stay here? I have no problem doing it," Derek said standing up.

Spencer turned around with furrowed brows and opened his mouth to protest, but Hotch quickly silenced both of them.

"No, Agent Morgan, that won't be necessary. We have an unmarked cruiser stationed out front. If anyone comes, the _officer_ can handle it. There's no reason to think the Unsub would be so bold as to act when Spencer's here." Hotch explained, locking eyes with Derek. Derek seemed dissatisfied with this solution, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

Nodding at the agents sleepily, Spencer mumbled out a "thanks," and "g'night," before he shuffled to the back. Everyone was silent until they heard the soft "click" of the bedroom door.

The agents began to file out of the apartment, but before Derek could get to the door he was stopped by Hoch's hand gripping his arm.

"Morgan, what was that about? You can't just sit here watching him all day. You're not a babysitter. As of now, we don't have any reason to believe he's in more danger than a qualified police officer can handle. Furthermore, _we_ need you to help with building the profile. Did you forget that? You're part of a team. What's _really_ going on here?" Hotch asked, eyebrow raised but voice lacking accusation.

Derek let out a heavy sigh.

"I don't know, Hotch. Something just seems off about that kid. Like, he doesn't seem as if he really trusts us. And what bothers me more is that he doesn't seem to be taking this seriously. It's as if he's surprised we want to help him, or something. I just feel like… he's not going to look out for himself," Derek huffed out.

Hotch furrowed his brow in confusion.

"I get that you want to look out for him because he's so young, but it's likely Spencer had to grow up a lot faster than most kids his age. And I'm sure being in this line of work has caused him to develop a pretty tough skin. He's probably had to deal with a fair share of unwanted advances and I doubt receiving flowers from a 'secret admirer' is the kind of thing that would scare him silly. I think he can probably handle himself," Hotch said.

Derek scoffed.

"Flowers are one thing. Flowers potentially from a psychopathic serial killer, well, that's another," Derek said.

Hotch rolled his eyes.

"Morgan, you don't have to tell me that. For some reason you seem more impacted by this case than usual. As of now, Spencer Reid isn't a _victim_, he's a key witness. And while the importance of that should in no way be downplayed, he's _not_ my top priority. My top priority is catching the son of a bitch who has been murdering people across state lines for _five_ years. The Las Vegas Police are more than capable of protecting Spencer. And if you don't think you can let them do that, then maybe you should excuse yourself from this case," Hotch said, eyebrow arched expectantly.

"That…won't be necessary, Hotch," Derek said, feeling slightly chastised.

"Good to hear," Hotch said as he opened the door for them, "now let's go get some sleep."

* * *

><p>It was almost 1:00 when Spencer opened his eyes later that day. Blinking up at the ceiling groggily, he sighed to himself.<p>

_Since when has my life become so complicated?_ He asked himself as he threw an arm over his eyes to block out the persistent sunlight.

Less than seven days ago, his life—although not ideal—had been at least predictable. He would reluctantly force himself to go to work five days a week. And while there, he would try to shut down and lock out all the unpleasantness and shame he would feel as he performed for his clients. But, after that he had two days to himself, where he could go to the bookstore and his favorite café, then spend his time reading. More than anything, he looked forward to the time he spent every week visiting his mother. It had taken him a while—almost four whole years—to get to the point where he didn't feel riddled with anxiety every day. And it hadn't necessarily been easy. But, things had fallen into place and he had become content. He didn't see the point in hoping for anything different anymore…

And now, just because he was unlucky enough to have been the accidental witness to a crime, his life was currently overrun by nosy federal agents. He didn't have many friends. And no one he knew on the outside actually had any idea what he did for work. He had always been able to keep those lives separate. Suddenly, however, he found himself in the unpleasant position of having to look people in the face and admit out loud the kind of person he was. He hadn't been made to feel this ashamed in a long time. In his everyday life, the people he worked with all engaged in the same type of activities he did. So they could never give him those looks of pity or judgment. These agents, however, were all "white knights"—_good_ people—and he didn't want them to look at him that way.

J.J. and Emily were sweet and kind, and reminded him, in some way, of his mother. For some reason he didn't want them to be disappointed in him. And the older agents—Hotch and Rossi he thinks they were called—were often silent and contemplative, seeming to look at him like they pitied him, but (fortunately) didn't seem interested in doing anything about it. But it was that Agent Morgan—the boy scout—who seemed like he could see in to Spencer's soul and saw that something was broken there. Agent Morgan looked like all he wanted to do was FIX him. Like he believed that if Spencer just talked to him, and relied on him, that he could suddenly make all his problems go away. And that was something Spencer just couldn't deal with. He was too far gone to go back at this point. And it was because of this that Agent Morgan made him feel the worst about himself.

_Ugh, and I can't believe he threatened to tell my mother_, Spencer thought as he closed his eyes in frustration and groaned into his pillow. _I don't really think he'd do it, but that was definitely playing dirty_.

Opening his eyes and returning his gaze to his plain ceiling, Spencer worried why he was thinking so much about the overly pushy agent. Generally speaking, anyone who was so intent on trying to control him or tell him what to do would have sent Spencer running the other way. But Agent Morgan wasn't really threatening or anything like that…he was just _annoying_. At least that's what Spencer told himself to explain why the agent was currently on his mind. Nice-smelling, overly involved and good-natured Agent Derek Morgan with the wide smile that made the corners of his chocolate-brown eyes crinkle...

_Agent Morgan seems… nice, _Spencer thought idly to himself. _He doesn't look at me like he wants "that" from me, and he doesn't seem like the type who would force me to do anything I didn't want to, or try to exploit me in some way. He seems oddly genuine… _

But it was strange for Spencer to not have to be afraid, to not have to always be vigilant and to, for once, maybe think that he could trust someone… He didn't know how to feel about that.

Sitting up quickly and frowning, Spencer decided he had had enough of lazing around the house and thinking of useless things. This wasn't like him. What was the point of letting those agents sidetrack his life? Pushing himself out of the bed and getting to his feet, Spencer ran his hands through his tousled hair and reached for his glasses on the bedside table.

Quickly shucking off his t-shirt and pajama bottoms, he pulled on the first few items of clothing he could find in his closet. He had wasted so much time in bed already and couldn't wait to get out, get his coffee and make his rounds. The first thing he wanted to do was hit up the bookstore. He had seven new books in mind that he wanted to read and he figured that would keep him occupied for the better part of the day. Pulling on his old Converses and slipping a watch on his wrist, Spencer headed towards his bedroom door. After making a quick detour to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, he walked out into his living room.

He smiled slightly as he saw that the blanket he had used last night was neatly folded and placed on the couch. He also noticed that his keys and cellphone were placed on the kitchen counter, next to his satchel. He was sure he had left his things all over the place after he had called Agent Morgan and soon after his apartment was flooded with law enforcement personnel.

_Must've been J.J. or Emily, _he thought fondly to himself.

Grabbing his belongings and slinging the satchel over his shoulder, Spencer headed out the door.

Pausing for a second as he locked the door behind him, he remembered that the agents had mentioned there was going to be an officer sitting outside.

_Do I have to tell him where I'm going_? Spencer wondered to himself. _I think he's just supposed to be watching in case the 'secret admirer' comes back_.

He didn't want to have to deal with the wasted time it'd take to explain to the officer where he was going. He had a bus to catch.

So, shoving his keys into his pocket, he decided to take the back door.

* * *

><p>The BAU had been assembled and hard at work for the last four hours. Having reconvened at 10:00, they had spent the better part of that morning going over the facts of the case, most importantly the relationship between the Judgment Maker's previous victims and the current one, Victor LaRoux.<p>

"Garcia has been able to find some more information on our most recent victim," Hotch said as he pressed the speaker button on the conference phone.

"Hello, my mighty crime fighters," Garcia greeted as she began. "So, this Victor LaRoux guy is pretty interesting. Through my digging I was able to find that your victim had no good reason to be in Vegas on the night he was killed. This is because he lives in a Nevada suburb almost 50 miles away from _Mon Petit Chien_. And, what's more interesting—although I'd call it "creepy"—is that Mr. LaRoux is the superintendent of a number of all-boy Catholic schools in the district where he lives. When we got in touch with his wife, she didn't seem all that shaken up that he was dead, but she was _livid_ that he was found in a strip club. And she did not pull any punches when she explained to me that he spends _thousands_ of dollars at those types of places."

"Hmm, so maybe LaRoux was dropping some serious cash on his favorite girl…or _guy_," Rossi said, his mind, and all the others' in the room, suddenly going to Spencer. "Maybe he was embarrassed that his proclivities ran that way, and that's why he went so far from home to chase his thrills?"

"Yea, that theory makes sense. Spencer mentioned LaRoux by name. He called him "Mr. Victor." So he's definitely familiar with him. I wonder if he was one of his regulars?" J.J. postulated.

"Well, even if Spencer was a regular of his, I don't think LaRoux was dropping _thousands_ on him. We saw the state of Spencer's apartment, plus his financials. If he was a "kept boy" and LaRoux was his sugar daddy, he'd at least be living nicer than _that_," Emily offered.

"Well," Garcia said, jumping in. "His wife did say those _types_ of places. It sounded like she was saying that her husband visited places like this a _lot_, and not just one. Kind of like he had a "problem" or something. I did manage to pull their financials and while I have no idea what he was doing with that money, I do know that this guy pulled between $8,000-$10,000 from his accounts _every_ month."

"Sheesh," Rossi said, "I didn't know superintendents had money like that."

"Yeah, well I didn't say it wasn't bankrupting them," Garcia responded. "But, whatever he was spending that on, it was _expensive_. Spencer doesn't cost that much."

"What do you mean by that, Baby Girl?" Derek asked, his interest piqued by the tech's comment.

"Ah," Garcia said, sounding accomplished. "Well, I know you all were having a bit of an issue getting a straight story from the people over at the club. So, yours truly called them and put some "do you want us to get the IRS all in your business" pressure on them and they turned over some of their employee files. I'll be updating your case files soon, since I'm still spelunking, but from what I can see, Spencer and about a dozen other individuals, are on the pay roll under this fishy title called "alternate staff." Their pay schedules are different from the other 20 or so employees. So I figured maybe this had to do with that private room situation you guys were talking about?

_Well_, the club charges customers a base rate of $300 per half an hour for whatever is considered "standard," and then apparently it's extra for… "_extras_." Whatever _that_ may entail… But, the actual performer gets less than _half_ of that fee from the club, plus whatever tip the customer wants to give them. So, while I'm sure Spencer is really good at his job, there's no way any customer of his would be spending $10,000 on just him a month, unless he booked the kid up all night, every day of the week. I think this guy was spending at least some of that money somewhere else." Garcia finished.

"Ok," Hotch said. "Well, I think we need to find out what LaRoux was really involved in. It might be good to interview Spencer Reid again and see how LaRoux first became a client of his and if he knows other venues his client might have regularly visited. I also think it would be good to take some fresh eyes to the older cases.

These cases have been spread out across state lines but they've actually all taken place in California, Nevada or Arizona. I believe we can track the Unsub's life trajectory by tracking the cases. The first two kills were in California, then one in Arizona, three more in California, and this'll make the second in Nevada. I want some of you to head to California and talk to the detectives there. I'll have the Arizona case file sent here and the rest of us can look through that and the older Nevada case. Hopefully we can piece together what it is about these victims that draws the Unsub to them."

Before Hotch could divvy up responsibilities, Derek interjected.

"Hey, Hotch. I'll go interview the kid again. See what he knows about LaRoux," he offered.

Hotch's eye roll did not go unnoticed by Derek or the other agents. Hotch considered sending Derek to California just to shake the younger agent's uncharacteristic interest in their witness, but at this point he was just too tired to have this argument. Derek had said he would make the case his first priority, so Hotch decided he would trust him to stand by his word.

"Fine, Morgan. But you don't intend to ask him to come _here_?" Hotch asked, giving him a discerning look.

"Well we had him here for a good amount of time yesterday, plus we were trampling through his apartment all this morning. I figured it'd be giving him a break to not have to trek all the way back down here, especially since he doesn't have his own car." Derek explained

Hotch gave him a flat look.

"There's an officer stationed outside his apartment. He can always give him a ride over here," Hotch said. Derek flinched at his superior's astute observation.

"And… well, I kind of also wanted to check if everything was ok at the building and if the kid got any other strange messages or gifts. He didn't even want to call us about the first package he received, so it's likely he might brush off something that could be a sign form the Unsub," Derek explained almost sheepishly.

Emily and J.J. couldn't help but share a smile. They found it sweet that Derek seemed to want to look out for the smart and unassuming young man. To a certain extent, they had been worried about Spencer as well and wouldn't mind an update on him.

Hotch sighed in defeat as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Fine, Morgan. Just make sure you get back here as soon as possible. We'll have two other files to go through and we'll need your help."

Turning to the other team members, Hotch began to divvy up assignments.

"Rossi and Prentiss, I want you two to fly out to L.A. The detectives there will be awaiting you. J.J. and I will start in on the Arizona and Nevada cases. And, _hopefully_ Morgan will join us soon," Hotch said pointedly, as he glanced at the agent.

Derek nodded as he gathered his things. He hoped he wasn't making a big mistake by getting involved with Spencer Reid. But, for some reason, he just couldn't leave the kid alone.

* * *

><p>Arriving at Spencer's apartment approximately 20 minutes later, Derek made sure to first check in with the protective detail that was parked outside the building. Knocking on the window pane, Derek watched as the uniformed cop jumped in surprise. It looked like the man had been asleep. Showing his badge to the man in the car, Derek watched as the officer rolled down his window.<p>

"Good afternoon, Agent," the officer said around a yawn.

Derek frowned.

"Yea? Catching up on some rest there?" he asked the younger man.

The man blushed, apparently surprised he had been caught.

"Well… not really. It's just been… really quiet around here, you know?"

Derek rolled his eyes with a sigh.

"You're supposed to be keeping watch, man. With your eyes _open_," Derek told him.

The officer nodded, looking slightly chastened.

"I _have_ been. Nothing's happened. No one's come or gone. Everything's good. Trust me."

Derek glanced up at the old apartment building behind him.

"So, you haven't heard anything from Sp-…Mr. Reid, then?" Derek asked.

"Nope. I'm guessing the guy's just been hanging out in his apartment all day."

"Fine," Derek said as he shoved his ID back in his pocket. "I'll be heading up there then."

"Sure thing," the officer said with a smile, and another yawn.

Derek rolled his eyes as he crossed the street and headed into the building. He was now really regretting not putting up more of a fight when Hotch had demanded he not stay the night. Obviously this rookie cop didn't take his job of keeping watch over Spencer very seriously. Derek only hoped that the Unsub was sticking to his words in his note—that he'd merely be _watching_ Spencer, and nothing more.

As Derek lightly jogged up the one flight of stairs to the second landing, he slightly shuddered a bit at the thought, not pleased with the idea of this man showing Spencer so much attention. It was more than just a little bit problematic that the Unsub knew he had been seen. Derek now also wondered if maybe the Unsub had _wanted_ Spencer to see him. Shaking these distressing thoughts from his head as he came before Spencer's door, Derek raised his hand, knocked firmly on the door, and waited. And waited…

Hearing nothing, Derek's brows furrowed. Knocking again, this time just a bit louder, Derek wondered if maybe the kid was a very heavy sleeper. But, again, there was no response. Feeling the slight tingles of panic setting in at the edges of his consciousness, Derek's mind quickly shifted into action. He wondered if he should kick the door in or maybe try a gentler entry. His mind quickly flitted to an image of Spencer's brows drawn down, and lips pursed in an angry scowl at the thought of the agent kicking his door in when he was simply sleeping or in the shower. Imagining that, Derek felt his panic reduce a little and told himself not to think the worst.

Hands moving on their own to his wallet, he quickly pulled out the set of lock-pick tools he kept there. Putting the tools to work and making quick work of the flimsy lock (he'd have to tell the kid to get a better one later), Derek pushed his way into the apartment. His trained eyes taking in everything immediately, Derek was certain there were no signs of forced entry, a struggle or even a single thing out of place from what he remembered last night.

"Spencer?" Derek called out as he closed the door behind him. "It's Agent Morgan. You here, kid?"

Walking further into the apartment, Derek was able to quickly cover the expanse of the small place in just a few strides. He could immediately tell Spencer was not in the living room, nor was anyone in the tiny kitchen, which was separated from the living space by a breakfast bar. His steps took him into the back hallway and, with his hand on the grip of his holstered gun, he used his foot to nudge open the first door he came across on his right.

As the door opened it revealed a small bathroom. It took only a few seconds for his eyes to be sure that no threats were present there. Stepping away from the room, Derek then pulled open the door next to it to reveal a small linen closet. All that was left was the room at the end of the hallway, which he knew to be Spencer's bedroom.

"Spencer Reid!" Derek called again, almost completely certain now that the boy wasn't in the apartment. Or, at least that's what he hoped because if Spencer was there and hadn't responded, it could only mean nothing good.

Turning the handle and pushing the door fully open, Derek was met with the sight of a messy, but empty room. Glancing around, Derek could see clothes strewn across the floor, a messy comforter and sheets rumpled atop the bed, and books upon books scattered on nearly every available surface. Derek was somewhat surprised by the state of the room. Spencer seemed like such a somber and guarded person that, for some reason, he thought his room would be tidy and impersonal.

Derek was sure Spencer wore many hats and had learned to skillfully morph from one role into another. The glittered, bow-tie and suspender-wearing, bare-chested Spencer, was not the same sulky cardigan-wearing boy he had interviewed. Nor was either of those two personas the same shy, and somewhat self-conscious boy who had called him uncertainly last night. Looking around the room, Derek was surprised by some of the things that were missing (there was no TV, or even a computer of any kind), and some of the things that were there (he didn't know anyone who owned so many books, and he was amused by what he could see were a few figurines from popular sci-fi shows). In any case, Spencer was someone he didn't think he'd be able to figure out anytime soon. But for the time being, the kid was missing and Derek had to do something about that.

Sighing in frustration, Derek backed out of the room and pulled his cellphone out. He stomped into the living room and flopped down on to the couch as he dialed Garcia.

"Chocolate-thunder, to what do I owe this most pleasant of pleasures?" the blonde tech purred flirtatiously.

"Hey, Baby Girl, I need you to do me a favor. You know that kid Spencer? Is it possible for you to track his cellphone and see where he is right now?" he asked her.

"Is it _possible_? Pshh! You say that like you don't know me!" Garcia said, playfully pretending to be offended. "Just give me a second and I'll get his coordinates."

"Thanks mama," Derek sighed.

"So what's going on? You guys can't find Spencer?" she asked as he heard the sound of keys clacking in the background.

"No idea. I got to his apartment and he's just gone. There's a cop outside who's _supposed_ to be watching the place, but I doubt he's doing a very good job. Case in point: Spencer's not here," he told her, tiredly.

"Hmm…ok, I've got his coordinates. It seems like he's not very far from where you are. Only about a 20 or 25 minute drive, actually. I'm sending the coordinates to your phone now." Garcia told him quickly.

"Great to hear. Thanks, sweetness," Morgan said with a smile.

"Anything for you!" Garcia said, flirtatiously.

"And Morgan, I hope everything's alright with him," she said as an afterthought.

"Me too," he replied with a sigh, as he tried to rub the tension out of his temples.

* * *

><p>When Derek made it to the coordinates Garcia had given him and had gotten out of his black SUV, his eyes quickly scanned his surroundings and he was surprised to see that he was in the middle of some sort of small town center with small shops, restaurants, and businesses. He was definitely not in an abandoned warehouse district or some other locale where one would hold a kidnapping victim. He was starting to believe more and more that the kid had given the cop the slip through his own free will.<p>

His attention was drawn when he saw a person he thought looked like Spencer walking out of a quaint-looking café across the street from where he was parked. He was again floored by how different this person looked from the tantalizing, and almost bare boy he had seen last night. His hair was messier today, as if he couldn't be bothered to use any product to tame it. He was wearing a long-sleeved dark button down shirt and a pair of baggy gray corduroys, paired with those recurrent black Converses. But what drew his attention the most were his eyes, or more specifically that he was wearing large-framed black glasses. He looked like a kid who had gotten lost on his way to the library, not someone who just hours ago was emitting tons of sex appeal.

He watched amusedly as the boy seemed to juggle a heavy bag that read "Boulevard Books" on it while he brought up an extra-large cup of coffee to his lips and pushed up his glasses. Situating himself, he turned and walked away from the store. To Derek, the kid didn't seem to be in any danger; just out for a stroll. But, Derek still thought he needed a good talking to. He wasn't doing himself any favors by giving his protective detail the slip when it was very likely that a killer was watching him. Pushing away from his position leaned against his SUV, and slipping on his shades, Derek began to follow the younger male who was already about 10 yards ahead of him.

Before he could call out to the boy who had neared the corner of the street, he watched in surprise as the kid literally slammed right into two men who had turned the corner from the other side. Spencer yelped in surprise as he dropped his bag of books but managed to save his large cup of coffee. Unfortunately, his efforts to maintain the coffee resulted in some of the liquid splashing out on to one of the men in front of him.

"Shit! What the hell?" the one who had been splashed yelled angrily.

"You weren't even watching where you were going," the other one barked.

From behind him Derek couldn't see Spencer's reaction, but he knew that this wasn't going to end well. While Spencer was a tall kid, he wasn't very imposing. He probably weighed 140lbs, when soaking wet, and his lanky limbs and thin body didn't give the impression that he'd be able to hold his own against either of these guys. One was probably around 6'4" and likely had 50lbs of muscle on the boy. The other was shorter than Spencer, but made up for it in an even more impressive amount of muscle bulk.

_'Shit_,' Derek thought to himself as he increased his pace.

"Sorry, I didn't see you," Spencer began but was cut off as the shorter male shoved his shoulder, causing the boy to stumble slightly.

"Yea, we fucking know! What, those glasses of yours not thick enough for you to see right?" he asked.

Spencer frowned at the two men, subconsciously pushing his glasses up again.

"You ruined my fucking shirt," the taller one began to say.

Spencer glanced at the stain on the man's dark top. It was barely noticeable, but he didn't think saying that would win him any points.

"Well, I guess I could compensate you for the shirt?" Spencer said, his eyebrows scrunched up, showing his displeasure.

"Yea right, you don't look like you could afford to pay me back for this shirt," the man responded, but then a glint appeared in his eyes as he seemed to study Spencer's face.

"But hey," he continued with a smirk. "I know what Vegas is like. Why don't you try to make up for it with that pretty mouth of yours?"

Spencer's body tensed and his eyes widened as the man began to reach forward, presumably to touch Spencer's face, when he heard a familiar voice call out from behind him.

"Hey! Knock it off," Derek said in a commanding tone as he appeared next to Spencer.

Spencer whipped his head around to look at the tall and imposing agent, wondering where the hell this man had come from. But he would be lying if he said he hadn't felt a small pang of relief at seeing him there.

"The fuck? This doesn't have anything to do with you, man," the shorter one said as he shot Derek a nasty look.

"This kid," Derek said as he nodded towards Spencer, "has _everything_ to do with me. So you'd better back off."

"Whoa, is this your man, sweetheart?" the older one said with a laugh, sneering down at Spencer.

Spencer tensed again, face flaming up. He didn't want them to talk about Agent Morgan that way.

"He's a vital asset to the Federal Bureau of Investigation," Derek said as he quickly flipped out his ID case.

"Like hell that's real…" the shorter one said with a scoff but his words trailed off as Derek slightly pushed back his leather jacket, revealing the gun holstered at his waist. He was sure that even if the men didn't immediately desist upon sight of the gun he would never have to resort to using it in any case (his muscles weren't just for show), but he knew sometimes showing he was packing some heat was enough to reveal narcissistic 'tough guys' for what they really were—cowards.

Looking up at the glaring agent, the two men immediately stepped back, hands raised defensively.

"Um, we don't want any trouble man! We were just messing with this kid. We'll get out of your hair," the taller man said as he nudged his friend. The two then quickly turned the corner, leaving the way they had come.

Glaring after the idiots to make sure they wouldn't be stupid enough to come back, Derek's attention was pulled back to the current situation when he heard an exasperated voice come from behind him.

"I'm not a damsel in distress, you know. I _can_ take care of myself."

Derek feared he had, yet again, alienated the younger man. It was like ping pong with them, and he never knew what he would do or say that might set Spencer off.

But when he turned around, Spencer was smiling slightly with an amused expression on his face.

"It must be hard to be an action figure, huh? Always poised and ready to go into battle?" Spencer teased.

"Hey, don't get smart with me," Derek said, but there was no malice behind his voice.

Derek leaned down to retrieve the bag of books that had been dropped, surprised at how heavy it was. He handed the bag back over to Spencer when the boy held his hand out.

"I can't help being smart, you know," Spencer said with a smirk, "I am a 'genius,' after all."

"Well, Pretty Boy, next time some assholes start talking about how they'd like you to repay them with your 'pretty mouth,' I guess I'll just leave you to fend for yourself, huh?" Derek asked with a smirk.

He saw Spencer flinch slightly, but the tension left the boy's body as quickly as it had come, and instead he pursed his lips.

"Like I said, I can handle myself," Spencer said, rolling his eyes. "Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, Agent Morgan? Something else to do with the case, or should I add you to this ever growing list of "stalkers" that I now seem to have?"

He grinned at the boy, feeling pleased that he could at least crack jokes. Spencer seemed so much more at ease now that he was outside—outside the club, the precinct, and even his tiny apartment. Maybe it had something to do with the huge bag of books he held or the extra-large cup of coffee. But it made Derek happy to see that the boy could act normal for once.

"_No_, I'm not a 'stalker.' And yes, we have some more things to follow up with you about the case." Derek explained.

Spencer parted his lips to respond, but before he could get a word out Derek's phone began to ring.

Holding up a hand apologetically, Derek turned around to answer his phone.

"How's it going with the interview?" Hotch's voice came over the phone.

"Uh… well, I've only just found Spencer," Derek said, knowing his boss wouldn't like that answer.

"What do you mean _found_?" Hotch asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"That officer we had stationed out front wasn't exactly doing a great job. Apparently Spencer gave him the slip and I was just only recently able to track him down at a café a little ways off from his house. Thanks to Garcia, of course. I haven't been able to ask him yet how he managed that, but I'm going to need some more time for that interview, Hotch," Derek explained.

He heard Hotch sigh, but couldn't sense any malice or frustration aimed at him.

"Well, Mr. Reid is a bit more interesting than I expected. Since, we've only just gotten the Arizona file in over here, I suppose you could have a bit more time. And you can send that officer back to the station since he's obviously be doing a less than impressive job. I'll make sure his superior gives him a good talking to." Hotch stated.

"Sure thing," Derek said with amusement in his tone as he ended the call.

Turning back to Spencer, Derek apologized for the interruption. Spencer just shrugged in response.

"So…you said you have some more questions you want to ask me?" Spencer said as he fiddled with the strap of his satchel. "I've got a brand new cup of coffee and it's my day off. I don't really want to spend it back at that stifling police station."

He then looked up at Derek through his bangs and asked, "So…do you want to come back to my place?"

* * *

><p>AN: Haha, so there we end it! I feel like I'm such a tease ;p. But I'm sure you've all caught on by now that I kind of like to mess with ya… :D. So, just sit tight until next time!

In unrelated news, I remember telling a reviewer that I wasn't sure if I was doing a good job describing Reid's club-outfits, and over this past weekend I watched a movie called 'Getting Go' (really good movie, but pretty mature M/M content (you can find it on Netflix tho :))) and was able to see what go-go dancer boys wear. OMG. Really hawt! I don't think I'm doing Spencer's outfits justice after seeing that, but now I have a reference point for inspiration, teeheehee. I was also able to learn the difference between a 'stripper' and a 'go-go dancer,' lol, so we can also say it was educational ;p.

Until next time, my loves!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

A/N: Thanks are in order, as always! I enjoy reading everyone's comments and questions so much! I'm happy you guys are invested in this story :). Thanks, as always go to my beta, Eskimita. She's really helping me to make my crazy plot less… 'crazy' haha :).

Also, I notice my chapters are getting longer and longer (this one is 21 pages! O.O). Let me know if this is a 'yay' or 'nay.' I just like to write and I stop where it feels naturally comfortable. But, sometimes I don't know if especially lengthy chapters become tiresome for the readers. So if you want the chapters to be shorter, let me know and I'll see what I can do.

Xoxo,

WH

* * *

><p>On the way back to the apartment, Spencer had explained (at Derek's insistence) how he had gotten out of his apartment without gaining the attention of the on-duty officer. Apparently there was a back door that led to a small, fenced-in garden. Spencer said that he often cut through this garden because it put him closer to his bus stop and that the term "fenced-in," as applied to his poorly-maintained apartment complex, was merely just for show. It was easy to push the wooden slats out of the way and slip through on to the back street. The residents did it so often that they didn't even bother to move the slats back to pretend like the fence was capable of keeping anyone or anything out.<p>

Sighing in frustration as he pulled the large SUV up in front of the building and cut off the engine, Derek turned and looked at Spencer.

"Kid, I know you're smart, but I think you're maybe too smart for your own good. Put the book smarts aside for a second, and remember to tap into your common sense once in a while. There's a _killer_ out there. What were you thinking just sneaking out without letting that officer know?" Derek asked, a frown on his face and his tone clearly reflecting his concern.

Spencer stared at the sincere agent, wondering why the man was going to all this trouble. Biting at his lip thoughtfully, and considering that maybe he had caused the agents unnecessary stress, Spencer nodded slowly.

"Um, maybe you're right…? But, I'm just not used to having to tell anyone what I'm doing, or…you know, having people 'looking out' for me…" Spencer said as he trained his large eyes on the agent and watched as something in the darker man's expression changed.

He seemed like he was going to say something, or ask a question, so Spencer cut him off.

"But, hey, I understand. I won't give you guys the slip again. I'll be more careful." Spencer said, forcing a smile. "So, let's just go, ok? My coffee's getting cold."

Before Derek could say anything else, Spencer was pushing the door open and wrangling his large bag of books off of the passenger seat floor.

Sighing in annoyance, Derek pushed open his own door and stepped out of the car. Glancing down the street he saw the patrol car still sitting there and called to Spencer.

"Hey, kid, come with me for a sec. I need to get rid of this 'protective detail' of yours," he explained as he watched the boy lug his bag to the other side of the car, his brow furrowing with his exertion. Derek really wanted to grab that bag from the struggling boy, but he was sure Spencer wouldn't take kindly to that show of machismo.

"Why are you getting rid of him? You guys don't think I'm worth the trouble anymore?" Spencer asked with a forced laugh.

Derek watched him silently for a moment. For someone who seemed so blasé earlier about leaving without alerting anyone, Spencer suddenly seemed anxious about the idea that they would pull his detail.

"Nah," Derek said as he looked away from the kid's expressive face, "he's obviously not doing a good enough job to keep an eye on you. So, we're going to move some things around. You never know… maybe I'll get to be in charge of watching you now."

As soon as he said it, Derek wondered why he had. He knew he _wanted_ to be in charge of Spencer. The kid's recklessness was making his stomach twist in knots. But, he also didn't want the kid to think he was 'hopeful' that he'd get that job. And Spencer had looked at him with wide eyes, saying nothing in response.

"Um… ok… Well, do I _have_ to come? Could I just go take these things upstairs?" Spencer asked as he made a show of lifting his over-burdened arms.

"You can just give me that bag," Derek said instead, as he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Spencer frowned.

"I'm going up," he said, seeming as if he wasn't leaving room for an argument.

"Pump your brakes," Derek told him. "Even though this guy's been doing a sloppy job, I still need to know if anyone's gone into the building before I let you up. So you're coming with me."

Spencer groaned as he followed the agent who had already started walking down to the police-issue sedan. Knocking on the glass, Derek got the officer to roll his window again. This time, fortunately, the man seemed to be fully awake.

"Agent," the officer acknowledged and then glanced over to the tall, skinny kid standing next to the man. "And Mr. Reid…?" The officer's eyes had grown comically large.

"Yea… look what I found," Morgan said with a disapproving look.

"Shit, man! Where'd you come from?" the officer asked the teen, seeming to have quickly forgotten his professionalism.

Spencer flushed, feeling even more like a heel for having snuck out.

"Um, I-" Spencer began apologetically, but was cut off by Derek.

"Don't you worry about that. I've already talked to him, but _you_, on the other hand, should return to the office." Derek said.

The officer winced at what that would entail for him.

"Oh man," he sighed.

"But before you go, just let me know if you saw anyone go into the building," Derek asked.

"No, sir. No individuals other than tenants have entered the building since I last saw you," the officer responded.

"Alright, man. You can head back," Derek began saying but the officer cut him off.

"Am I really in trouble, do you think?" he asked.

Derek glanced at Spencer who looked uncomfortable, not to mention still weighed down by his bags.

"You can head up, kid. I'll see you in a couple of minutes." Derek told him with a sigh as he nodded towards the apartment.

Spencer smiled tightly at the panicking officer and then hurried across the street.

* * *

><p>Only about five minutes had passed while Derek tried to talk the young officer off the ledge. He had told the man that it was problematic that he hadn't taken his duties seriously, but he didn't think it'd be anything he would be fired for. Desk duty for a few weeks, though? Almost definitely. After wishing the man luck, Derek entered the building, taking the stairs two steps at a time, but he came to a surprised stop when he reached the top landing and could see Spencer still standing at his apartment's door.<p>

"Kid?" Derek asked, causing Spencer to turn around.

Spencer was standing at the door with wide eyes, a small rectangular white box in his hand.

"Shit," Derek said, eyes flashing angrily as he moved forward and grabbed the box out of Spencer's hand.

"Did you open it?" he asked Spencer, and the boy shook his head in the negative.

"Ok, let's go inside. I've got to call Hotch," Derek said as he helped Spencer with the bag of books that he had dropped down by the door and watched as the boy fished out his keys and unlocked the front door.

"By the way, you've gotta get better locks kid," Derek mentioned as he followed the boy into the apartment. "I was able to easily pick that earlier."

Spencer glanced at him over his shoulder with a confused look.

"You broke into my apartment?" Spencer asked, incredulous.

"Yea, you weren't answering," Derek said, looking at the boy like it should have been obvious.

Spencer sighed as he walked further into the room, tossing his satchel on the closest chair and making his way to the breakfast bar. Placing his coffee down and glancing at the agent who had walked up beside him, Spencer rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Are… are we going to open that?" he asked, figuring receiving a second mysterious package was probably a more prominent issue to tackle than the fact that the agent had been snooping around in his personal spaces.

Setting the small box down on the counter top, followed by the large bag of books, Derek was silent for a second. He doubted there was anything dangerous in the box. Whoever was sending Spencer these "gifts" didn't seem like he was interested in blowing the kid up, or poisoning him. But what exactly the man wanted from Spencer, Derek wasn't sure. And that made him apprehensive.

"Hey, just… let me be the one to look at it first," Derek finally said to Spencer after feeling the boy's gaze become more impatient.

"Why?" Spencer asked, his eyebrow arching in confusion.

"Look, kid, I've dealt with a lot of stuff like this. Obsessional crimes. People get a little crazy. If it's something…disturbing, you don't need to see that, ok?" Derek explained.

Spencer blanched at the thought of the kinds of 'disturbing' things the agent had experience seeing, but he nodded his head in assent.

Picking up the box and stepping back from the counter, making sure the contents were concealed from the younger man, Derek popped the top of the box off, and he felt his jaw clench involuntarily. Lying on a bed of what looked like white silk was a simple black leather collar with a silver name tag hanging off of it. Engraved in script was one word: _Spencer_.

The boy in question watched the emotions forming over the darker man's face, wondering what was in the box. He heard Derek let out a soft curse but was surprised when the agent tossed the box down on the counter in front of him. Spencer's eyebrows rose as he took in the contents of the small box. Picking up the strange collar, his face paled and his heart sped up as he read his own name.

"Is…is this for real? What the _hell_?" Spencer asked, his voice sounding strangely high and strained to his own ears.

"Ok, ok. Relax, kid," Derek said as he ran a hand wearily over his face. For someone telling another person to relax, Derek didn't look so relaxed himself.

"I'm going to call my boss and let him know what we're working with here, so you just sit tight for a second," Derek said as he grabbed the box and strolled out into the apartment's hallway.

Hearing the door click quietly behind him, Spencer sat there stunned.

Someone had sent him a dog collar. With his _name_ on it. Did that mean that the person thought they _owned_ him? This and many other unsettling thoughts played through his mind as he absentmindedly sipped his now lukewarm coffee, the liquid tasteless in his mouth.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the front door open again and the sounds of the agent's heavy boots walking up behind him.

"Hotch wants me to bring this back to the precinct myself. He doesn't think there's any need to get the crime scene unit out here again since there were no prints last time. This guy isn't likely to leave anything that can be traced back to him." Derek explained as he lowered himself into the seat next to Spencer.

Seeing that Spencer still continued to stare vacantly at the coffee cup cradled between his hands, Derek worriedly placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. Spencer flinched almost immediately, turning wide eyes on to the agent.

"I…I'm in danger, aren't I?" Spencer asked flatly.

Derek's face darkened as he pulled his hand back, and contemplated the boy's words.

"To be honest, I can't really say, kid. This… this whole sending gifts thing doesn't really vibe with this Unsub's prior M.O. He's stayed below the radar for five years. Now, suddenly he's killed someone in public, and, on top of that, left a witness. He's just not the type to communicate like this. So, something's changed for him, or it's not the same guy. But no matter _what _this is, you know we'll be here to protect you, don't you?" Derek asked, hoping to comfort the boy.

Spencer sighed and pushed to his feet. Walking silently into the kitchen, he dumped his coffee into the trashcan. Derek could tell from the solid 'thunk' the cup made when it hit the bottom that it was still mostly full.

"Things were so much less complicated before you guys came here," Spencer mumbled from his place in the kitchen.

Derek heard the boy's soft words, but knew he wouldn't want to talk about it, so he pretended that he hadn't heard anything at all. He couldn't deny that he was concerned that the FBI's presence had, somehow, made Spencer a target. The crime had occurred almost a week before the FBI arrived, and there had been no mention of anyone harassing Spencer. But, the first day they arrive, Spencer receives a threat in the mail. It was too much of a coincidence.

"Hey, let's talk about those questions I had for you," Derek offered in hopes of distracting the pensive boy. Spencer looked up at him, and in the afternoon light that spilled into the kitchen, Derek's attention was again drawn to the drastic darkness under the boy's eyes and how it contrasted with his pale skin. He looked so tired…

"Ok, fine," Spencer said with a sigh as he strolled out of the kitchen and headed into his living room. Following the younger man, Derek watched as he flopped down on the old sofa with a huff, and crossed his arms over his chest.

_Defensive, yet again_… Derek thought to himself as he took a seat on the opposite side of the couch. His eyes slowly roamed over the boy's rigid figure, focusing in on the tension that always seemed to settle in the boy's brow, lips and shoulders. But, Derek couldn't help but think to himself that, even with his closed-off look of displeasure, the kid was still disarmingly beautiful. Catching himself staring (and uncomfortable with his train of thought), Derek shook his head and cleared his throat.

"So, Spencer, you know we have to talk a bit about the clients you see at the club," Derek began, pulling out a small notebook.

Spencer sighed in reluctance, obviously not finding this a much more agreeable topic of conversation.

"What do you need to know? They're _clients_. They pay for a service; they get their service; they leave." Spencer said, still not meeting the agent's eyes.

"Ok, but we need to know how these clients get into the club. How they pick who they want to see. And what happens when they become regulars. We need to know if there's anyone you've met with who may have…wanted to hurt you," Derek said as he watched the emotions playing over the young man's face.

"Hurt me?" Spencer asked, finally looking up at Derek. "The clients don't care enough about me to get obsessed, Agent…and if they wanted to hurt me, they'd do that in the room."

Derek flinched at the boy's blunt admission.

"They… hurt you?" Derek asked, before he could stop himself.

Spencer laughed bitterly, smile not reaching his eyes.

"Well… not _literally_. They can't touch me inside the box… but if they want me hurt, they just ask me to hurt myself." Spencer said softly.

Derek found his throat getting dry. He didn't know what to say. His gut reaction was to grab the boy by his thin shoulders and shake him, demanding to know why he was subjecting himself to something like this. Why he couldn't do something, _anything_ else. But, the profiler in him knew that asking something like that would only push the already closed-off boy away. Derek had to remember: Spencer was a witness and he had a job to do.

"Ok," Derek said after a moment, selecting his words carefully, "knowing what your clients ask of you may give us a better idea about which of them are most likely to be unable to separate fantasy from reality and may want to… pursue these fantasies outside of the club."

Spencer frowned as he looked down at his hands.

"There…are some things I won't do, but other than those things, the clients tend to ask for what you'd expect. You know…um, stripping. That's almost always required. But sometimes they want sp-spanking or dirty talk. And sometimes they ask me to use food or t-toys on myself. It kind of changes depending on the person, but mostly I have to play a role and act out what they want…" Spencer said, blush rising to his cheeks.

Avoiding the boy's eyes, and scribbling aimlessly in his notebook, Derek swallowed thickly, feeling heat spreading in his stomach at the boy's words. He couldn't help envisioning for a second what Spencer looked like as he was doing the things he had just described. It wasn't hard to imagine, and the images he already had of Spencer decked out in his club attire didn't help. Knowing what Spencer looked like with those clothes on made it very easy to picture the boy taking them _off_… Derek suddenly clenched his hand into a fist on his thigh, reprimanding himself for even thinking like that. It was disgusting; here was a kid explaining what obviously made him ashamed, and he was letting his mind wander.

"Ok," he said, clearing his throat, "So, how do the clients pick _you_?"

Spencer sighed.

"There's a book, I guess? I know they don't use my real name or anything like that. But I don't really know what else it says in there… I never really _wanted _to… But I think the clients just pick me because I'm…young..." he admitted, looking away from the agent's intense gaze.

Derek felt his body tense at the thought of this. Spencer _was_ young—too young—and it was disturbing that he had to know his appeal to these creeps was closely related to the illicitness of this fact.

"So, there's some type of book… Then what happens? These guys just pick whichever boy they think is the cutest and then they make an appointment?" Derek asked, trying to figure out how the system worked. But Spencer only seemed to pick up on one thing.

"_Cute_?" Spencer asked, his tone reflecting a mix of disbelief and disgust.

"Pretty boy, you can't tell me you don't think you're being picked because your clients find you attractive?" Derek asked.

"Attractive? Hardly," Spencer scoffed, but a light tinge of pink rose to his cheeks in any case.

"Come on, you can't do this kind of job and not believe that. Obviously your clients do," Derek said, trying to figure out if the kid was just trying to stroke his own ego. But he seriously doubted that was Spencer's motivation. The kid seemed like he truly believed what he was saying.

"Magic," Spencer said with a sigh.

"Huh?" Derek asked.

"It's like doing magic—you be who they want you to be, say what they want you to say, and suddenly," Spencer said, moving his hands in front of Derek's face as if he was performing a sleight of hand trick, "they believe."

"That's an illusion if I've ever seen one," Spencer said, looking at him with a sad smile.

"Look kid, I know your circumstances are probably not what you would've hoped for yourself. But, don't sell yourself short. Nothing about what you do should make you feel bad about yourself," Derek said as he placed a comforting hand on Spencer's shoulder and squeezed.

Spencer looked up at him wearily, but didn't say anything. He didn't shake Derek's hand off either, though, so Derek took that as progress. But he reluctantly removed his hand after a few seconds, remembering that he wasn't here to comfort Spencer—he was here to investigate a case.

"So… Victor LaRoux, our victim…was he a regular of yours?" Derek asked.

Spencer flinched at the mention of the deceased man, but nodded silently.

"How often did you meet with him?" Derek continued, watching Spencer's body language carefully.

"Um… M-Mr. Victor was…about once a week? Sometimes, maybe twice." Spencer said as he chewed on his bottom lip.

"And... 'Mr. Victor'….what was he into?" Derek asked tentatively, not sure if Spencer would clam up.

Spencer's face flushed and he frowned at the agent.

"I…I'm not going to talk about that," Spencer said firmly.

"Spencer, look…I'm not trying to embarrass you. But, the fact that LaRoux was murdered inside the club is significant. It might be possible that something about his…'tastes' led to him getting killed." Derek explained. But Spencer just squared his shoulders and turned away from the agent.

Sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose, Derek reached out and grabbed Spencer's shoulders, turning him to face him.

"We know LaRoux worked as the superintendent for a number of all-boy's Catholic schools. So… there's not much you could tell me that would change my opinion of the guy. I'm pretty sure I already have an idea about what he's into." Derek said softly, and watched as Spencer's eyes widened. He shrugged the older man's hands off his shoulders and pushed himself further away from the agent, squeezing himself up against the armrest and turning his face away. Spencer chewed on his lip, his discomfort obvious, but began to speak anyway.

"Mr. Victor… h-he liked me to dress up in uniforms… He always had me go by certain names. Usually someone named Ryan or Cory… Um… I…I had to act out scenes between him and these boys…and he always wanted me t-to say… 'I want you to fuck me, Daddy.'" Spencer breathed out, head lowered and face red. He couldn't believe he had actually said that to the agent.

Derek was speechless, but he couldn't say he had necessarily been surprised by what Spencer had divulged. He wondered to himself what effect having to play out such fantasies would have on someone like Spencer. As his concerned eyes ran over the form of the withdrawn-looking boy he couldn't help but think that if Spencer thought LaRoux was one of the _good _ones, what exactly his other customers had required of him that could be worse.

Sensing Spencer's distress, Derek reached out to gain the younger man's attention.

"Spencer, it's ok. I'm not going to judge you-" Derek began but Spencer yanked his arm away from the agent's touch.

Seeming uncomfortable and restless, Spencer pushed off from the couch and stalked into the kitchen. Derek watched the boy silently, wondering if he would continue answering his questions. He listened as the fridge was pulled open and Spencer began rummaging.

"You want something to drink?" the boy called from the kitchen as he held up a dark brown bottle, offering it to the agent. It was obvious Spencer was trying to change the subject.

Derek's eyes narrowed.

"That beer?" he called over his shoulder.

"Yea…?" Spencer asked, sounding confused.

"…I know you're only 19, Spencer," Derek said, giving the boy a meaningful look.

Spencer blinked hard. He was constantly being surprised by what these agents continued to find out about him. Slamming the fridge with a bit more force than necessary, and with the dark amber bottle still clutched in his hand, Spencer returned to the couch. Flopping down and locking eyes with the agent, he twisted off the cap of the beer and defiantly took a long swig.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Agent Morgan. You must be mistaken. In any case, you should ask whatever else you need to ask me, because I'm starting to not want you here," Spencer said to the older man.

Derek just shook his head and leaned away from the boy. Obviously prying into his activities at the club had pushed the boy away. He wasn't sure Spencer was going to relax around him anytime soon.

"How'd you meet LaRoux?" Derek asked flatly.

Spencer shrugged, continuing to sip on his drink.

"He's just a regular client, I met him at the cl-" the boy began but stopped suddenly, eyes widening a bit.

"What's wrong?" Derek asked.

"I…I just remembered. I _didn't_ meet him for the first time at the club… i-it was at a…a 'sex party.''" Spencer said, averting his eyes.

Morgan raised an eyebrow.

"A _what_?" the agent asked.

Spencer sighed and settled the half full bottle on the coffee table in front of him. Every time he spoke to the agent, it brought back all these unpleasant memories, turning his stomach.

"About once a month there are these… 'sex parties.' I don't know what else to call them. The club just tells us there's a "party" and everyone knows what they mean. It's an event that's held at private residences and the guests are all important, high-profile type people. They hire some of the employees from the clubs to work the parties." Spencer explained.

"Um... it's something we can volunteer for since they're not run by the club. The club just provides us as the… 'entertainment.' We get dressed up… usually there's a theme, and we're required to serve the attendees. I only do them when I'm really strapped for cash…b-but I hate the parties," Spencer said softly.

Derek watched silently, noticing how the boy was wringing his hands, and chose not to interrupt.

"I… I remember meeting Mr. Victor at one of the parties about seven or eight months ago. I was serving the food and drinks… All the servers know that you can…um... make 'extra' money by going into the back rooms with the party guests, b-but I don't do that." Spencer said as his blush darkened.

"I remember Mr. Victor had seemed… uh… 'interested' all night long, and he was one of the ones who asked me t-to go in the back with him, and when I told him no, he was actually nice about it. These types of people usually aren't… So then he asked me where I worked regularly and I told him the name of the club. He found me about a week later, and s-since then he's been booking sessions with me."

"So, you first met him at one of these parties... Do you think it's possible someone else from the party could have taken an interest in you? When's the last time you went to one?" Derek asked.

"I… I haven't been back since I met Mr. Victor. I-I told you I hate the parties," Spencer said as he crossed his arms over his shoulders, seeming to be hugging himself.

"Why?" Derek asked, trying to keep the concerned edge out of his voice.

"I… I _hate_ being touched, and when you go to the parties, you become their plaything. The clients can paw at you and do whatever they want to you above your clothes. They're 'paying' to have access to the servers, so… you can't say 'no.'" Spencer said softly, as his nails dug into his arms.

Derek felt his stomach roiling at the way Spencer seemed to have drawn into himself. He wanted to reach over and comfort the boy. Draw him into his arms and tell him that everything would be ok. He felt the muscles in his arms twitch, apparently ignoring his better judgment, and he reached out to Spencer. But before he could touch him, his phone began to ring, breaking the silence in the room.

Sighing in frustration, Derek sat back and fished around in his pocket for his phone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spencer draw his knees up and wrap his arms around them, nestling his chin on his knees.

"Morgan," he said gruffly as he answered the phone.

"It's Hotch," his superior's voice came over the line. "We need you back here, Morgan."

Glancing over at the withdrawn boy, Derek didn't feel like he wanted to leave. But he also knew he was already toeing a fine line with Hotch over the amount of time he had been spending with Spencer.

"Alright…" Derek said finally. "I'll be back there in 20 minutes."

Hanging up, he turned towards Spencer who was currently watching him silently.

"Hey, kid, I gotta get back and work on this case." Derek said as he caught Spencer's eyes. "You gonna be ok?"

"Yea," Spencer said with a small smile as he shrugged, "I…I don't know why I'm acting this way. It's just been a while since I had to really think about this stuff. But, it's not like it's anything I'm not used to. I'll be fine."

Derek felt like he could say a lot in response to that statement, but he knew if he tried to convince Spencer differently, he would never leave the boy.

"You just hang in there," he said instead, as he rose to his feet. "And Hotch told me earlier that they were sending over a different detail to watch out for you, ok? So, I want you to know you're safe here. And in any case, I'll be back to check in on you myself once I get some more information."

"Y-you're not going to tell them what I said, will you?" Spencer asked suddenly, looking up at Derek with wide eyes.

"Nah, kid… I'll have to tell them where you met LaRoux, but I won't give them any…'details.' Scout's Honor." Morgan said with a small smile.

"O-ok, thanks," Spencer said as he looked away.

Derek couldn't stop himself as he reached forward and slightly ruffled Spencer's soft hair. The boy turned and looked up at him in confusion, but Derek just smiled at him.

"See you, kid," he said as he made his way toward the door.

Spencer silently watched the agent's broad back as he exited the apartment, and listened as the door clicked shut behind him. Sighing lightly, Spencer stretched his body out across the length of the couch, his long legs hanging over the ends. Placing his hands over his eyes to block out the bright light that was still trickling into his small apartment, Spencer let his mind wander.

_He didn't judge me… didn't sneer or look disgusted. He just looked…sad_, he thought to himself.

"Agent Morgan isn't… what I expected," Spencer quietly confided to the empty room.

* * *

><p>Derek briskly walked into the LVPD squad room, currently occupied by Hotch and J.J., and unceremoniously tossed the small white box he had retrieved earlier from Spencer's apartment on to the table.<p>

Hotch reached for the box, as he watched the stoic-looking agent settle himself into one of the seats surrounding the round table. Derek seemed to be displaying a lot of pent-up tension.

"This is the gift that was left at Spencer's apartment today?" Hotch asked as he flipped the top off the box.

J.J. leaned in to observe its contents and her face immediately transformed into a grimace.

"A _dog_ collar?" she asked with distaste.

"Yup," Derek said as he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest angrily. "This guy's sick, Hotch. I don't think he's merely threatening Spencer any more. Now it seems like… like he's 'interested' in him."

Hotch was silent for a moment, eyebrows drawn downward in concentration, as he manipulated the leather neckwear in his hands. He then looked up at Derek.

"I think you're right. We don't have a functioning profile yet, but this stunt changes how we've seen this Unsub up until this point. In all his other kills, he seemed to be efficient and detached. Now, he seems possessive. But I can't tell if Spencer's just an unforeseen diversion for the Unsub, or if maybe his past cases had a similar element. I updated Prentiss and Rossi about the second gift when they landed in L.A., but I'll get them on the line now to see if they have any updates." Hotch said, as he leaned forward and dialed the agents.

"Hey Hotch, you've got me and Rossi here," Emily answered after two rings.

"Good, you've got me, J.J. and Morgan on the line. How's it going for you two over there?" Hotch asked.

"We've got a _lot_ to read here," Rossi's tired-sounding voice came over the line. "The officers are still bringing their copies up and we've already got four boxes. We want to interview the detectives who were on the other cases, but I think it's best if we just pack up the files and bring them back so we all can go through them."

"Hmm," Hotch said, "that might be a good idea. There's a lot going on over here and with all that's been happening with Spencer it's obvious the Unsub seems intent on sticking around the area. It would be better if we weren't down two agents."

"Yea, and what's up with the dog collar?" Emily asked. "Do we really think this is our Unsub, or does Spencer just have some whacked-out stalker from the club?"

"Honestly, we don't really know how it fits in. But I'd like to patch Garcia in so we can all get an idea," Hotch said as he pressed a speed dial button on the conference-room phone.

"Garcia, it's Hotch," the man informed once he heard the line engage, "You've got me, Morgan and J.J. here, and Rossi and Prentiss calling in from L.A."

"Sure thing, Boss-man. What can I do you for?" Garcia asked.

"Have you been able to find us anything on the member list for the club?" Hotch asked, getting straight down to business.

"Unfortunately, I'm still struggling with that. These people have their member list locked up tighter than Fort Knox. I'm trying to avoid us having to go in there with a search warrant, but short of…'inviting' myself on to their password protected servers with a friendly little viral hack, I'm kind of at a loss." Garcia said.

Hotch grimaced a bit as he glanced at his two subordinates.

"Well… Garcia, I don't claim to know how you do what you do, but I trust you to figure out how to get what you need. Just make sure whatever it is stays _legal_," he said pointedly.

Everyone privy to the conversation knew that was code for: 'If you _do_ break some rules, make sure I don't know about it.'

"Reading you loud and clear, sir." Garcia said with a small chuckle. "I should have that list for you guys bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Good to hear, Baby Girl," Derek broke in, "I also need some help with another package the kid received today."

"What, _more _flowers?" Garcia asked, frustration evident in her voice.

"No, Garcia. This time this guy sent Spencer a dog collar with his name engraved on it," J.J. said, disgust evident in her voice.

"Yikes!" Garcia's surprised voice came over the line. "That's… creepy."

"We don't think there's anything particularly telling about the actual collar, although we'll have the local PD's lab take a look at it. But, in the meantime, make sure you check VICAP for any past crimes that include anything similar being sent to a victim. In addition, go back over the Unsub's prior victims and see if he may have sent any of them gifts that just weren't reported or maybe weren't seen as significant by the victim or their families." Hotch informed her.

"Ok, sounds good," Garcia confirmed.

"And, hey, Garcia," J.J. interjected. "How are we doing with that background information about the other victims?"

"Still working on that, Jayje. Doing some additional digging I think I'm starting to see what could be indications of a pattern, but everything's still really tenuous. I can't really be sure. The only thing all the victims have in common so far is that they were Caucasian males between the ages of 35 and 50. And they all were relatively wealthy or at least spent money like they wanted to appear as if they were." Garcia informed them.

"Ok… so maybe this guy takes issue with wealth and excess?" Rossi hypothesized out loud.

"Yea, but there's got to be tons of 'wealthy' White males spanning California, Nevada and Arizona. So _why_ these particular guys?" Emily asked. "And why these locations? And why so spread out in time?"

"Well, it's the 'whys' that are our most important questions," Hotch said as he glanced over at Derek, who seemed to be lost in thought.

"Morgan, what'd you find out today when you talked to Spencer?" Hotch asked, breaking the younger man's concentration.

"Hmm?" Derek asked, looking up to see Hotch and J.J. looking at him with interest.

"Spencer?" J.J. offered. "Did he give you any useful information?"

"Oh… yea..." Derek said, wondering to himself about how much he should divulge to his colleagues. Obviously, he should and _would_ tell his team anything that was useful to the case. But, he could try to avoid embarrassing Spencer, or betraying his trust, while doing so.

"The kid was…reluctant, to say the least, to talk about his line of work. I'm sure that's not surprising," Derek began and listened to his colleagues murmur in agreement.

"I didn't get too much out of him, but he did tell me a bit about LaRoux. Like we guessed, LaRoux was into young boys and that was the fantasy he acted out with Spencer." Derek said, face darkening in anger.

"Garcia," Hotch said, leaning closer to the phone, "Did any of the other victims have a past history of pedophilia, sexual assaults, or anything untoward involving minor children?"

"No, nothing that I have seen so far. But, that's not necessarily something a person would write on their resume, so I guess they could have those kinds of tastes, even if I haven't been able to find it yet. The cops usually do a thorough search of a victim's belongings in these types of cases, and they weren't able to turn up anything. I'll definitely keep looking though." Garcia said from her end of the line.

"I can't help but think this Unsub isn't motivated by something so specific," Emily murmured, catching the attention of her teammates.

"Alright, so tell us what you're thinking," Hotch encouraged.

"Since these individuals are all so different, I'm thinking the Unusb's probably selecting them based on a _concept, _not something as concrete as going after pedophiles." Emily continued. "Based on our files, the occupations of the victims vary greatly. We have a realtor, doctor, attorney, investment banker, superintendent, etc. Nothing in common there. Plus, they also differed on their family structures—some were single, some married with kids, and some divorced. The Unsub probably _sees_ something in these men that just sets him off. We also can't forget that he _brands_ them with a cross too… we have to think about all the lovely things that might indicate."

"That's a good point," J.J. agreed. "Although it takes us away from being able to figure out his exact type and puts us at a real disadvantage if he decides to strike again."

"Well, his cooling off period between kills in the past has been _months_," Rossi threw in. "So I'm not too sure we have to worry about him striking again any time soon. On the other hand, if he drops off our radar, I'm afraid we won't catch him this time either."

"Well, there's always Spencer," Garcia said matter-of-factly.

The room fell silent as the agents absorbed what the technical analyst had said. Derek, in particular, felt his blood run cold at the implications of Garcia's statement.

Garcia gasped only a moment later, as if she had only then realized the words she had spoken.

"I-I didn't mean that he'd _kill_ Spencer, of course!" Garcia floundered from her side of the line. "J-just that the Unsub has been contacting him and so now he's put himself out in the open, unlike in the prior cases. Oh my God, oh my _God_! But I didn't mean for anything bad to happen to Spencer. What if I said something and now that jinxes him?"

"Garcia, calm down," Hotch said firmly, effectively cutting off the analyst's rant.

He then let out a long sigh.

"She's right, though. Spencer Reid is an unaccounted for variable that we didn't have in the prior cases. For some reason this Unsub is either getting sloppy around Spencer, or he wants to personally engage with him for some reason. We don't know which it is, or even why, but Spencer may give us an opening we might not have otherwise had." Hotch said with a grim expression on his face.

"Morgan, did Spencer give you any other useful information?" he asked.

Derek frowned and felt his jaw clenching at Hotch's question. Yes, he had more information. But he didn't like it that Hotch's words seemed to categorize Spencer as a tool. In any other case, Derek probably wouldn't have thought twice about Hotch's reasoning and might even have made the suggestion himself. But, having gotten to know Spencer a bit over the last few days, Derek suddenly wanted to keep Spencer as far away from this case as possible. On the other hand, Derek thought to himself, Spencer was already in danger and it wasn't going to be good for him to spend any extended period of time in the sights of a killer. Sighing in defeat, Derek decided it would only help Spencer in the long run if they found a way to catch the Unsub before he decided to get any bolder with his pursuit of the boy.

"The kid mentioned to me that he met LaRoux for the first time at a sex party," Derek finally said.

"Come again?" Rossi asked.

Derek sighed.

"Spencer didn't give too much information, and apparently a sex party is what _he _calls it. But, it seems that some private individuals throw these events where they hire dancers from the club to work as servers. The kid made it clear that even though they're hired just to serve, it's well-known among the guests that you can pay the servers extra to go in the back for…'private' activities. I guess that's why he dubbed it a 'sex' party." Derek divulged, albeit reluctantly.

Hotch grimaced at the information he had just received.

"So, you're saying Spencer's also prostituting?" Hotch asked.

"No, man!" Derek disagreed, voice betraying more of his anger than he had wanted it to. "_Spencer_ doesn't do that. That's just what sometimes goes on at these parties."

Silence fell over the room and Derek felt the eyes of the two agents sitting across from him.

"Derek…" J.J. said, eyebrows furrowing slightly in concern. "I know that's what he _said_… but, Spencer hasn't always been exactly truthful with us…"

"He wasn't lying, J.J. I trust him, alright? So, just drop it," Derek snapped, ignoring the shocked look that passed over his colleague's face.

"Morgan, you need to be able to stay objective," Hotch said firmly, locking eyes with Derek.

Derek could see Hotch's trust in him was wavering, and that just made Derek angrier.

"Alright, alright, everyone, it doesn't really matter whether he does or he doesn't, ok?" Rossi interjected.

Derek glanced away from Hotch, folding his hands on the table and trying his best to distract himself and focus on what Rossi was saying.

"We now know that Spencer works both in the club and sometimes at these private parties." The older profiler continued. "If he met LaRoux there, isn't it possible that maybe the _Unsub_ met LaRoux at one of these parties too? We said that the Unsub must've known LaRoux's habits and the schedule of the club to have timed his kill so perfectly. And it's highly unlikely LaRoux would tell someone who he knew in a familial or professional role about going to the club. The club is part of LaRoux's social life… his _secret _social life. You would only tell someone about that if they ran in the same circle as you did."

The team silently mulled over Rossi's words for a moment.

"That makes sense," Emily said. "It's plausible, and actually almost necessary, that the Unsub interacted with his victims beforehand. There's no way he would be so flawless in his execution unless he knew all there was to know about these men."

"Something crossed my mind earlier as well," J.J. interjected. "I was going over the recording from Spencer's interview and I remember him saying something about the tattoo on the Unsub's neck seeming familiar. I mean, maybe the full tattoo is of some recognizable piece of art or something, but couldn't it also possibly be that Spencer's seen this man before—or at least his back—and just doesn't realize it? Maybe he saw him at one of these parties?"

"Hmm," Hotch said as he pondered the information for a moment.

"We need to get more information about these…'sex parties.' Ideally, if Spencer ends up going to another party, we might be able to get a better idea of who the guests are. Maybe even be able to track down our Unsub through the parties' guest lists…" Hotch murmured, as if he were thinking out loud.

"He doesn't like going to the parties," Derek said, breaking into Hotch's train of thought.

Hotch's eyebrows rose at Derek's words.

"What do you mean?" the older man asked.

"Look, I know I kind of snapped earlier. My bad. But it was because… because of some of the more personal parts of the story that he shared with me. Spencer… that kid seems like he really hates what he does. It's not surprising since we know he wasn't some street kid doing something like this his entire life. He was a child prodigy for crying out loud. Something caused him to end up here and I think we can all guess that this wasn't his first choice in professions." Derek said with a heavy sigh.

Looking up at his superior, Derek was relieved to see that the distrustful tension had left Hotch's face, and this encouraged him to divulge more to the team.

"I was just… coming from a place of understanding that it was hard for him to talk to me about this stuff. He seems really ashamed of what he does. And he didn't want to tell me anything at first, but when he finally did he asked me to promise that I wouldn't tell you guys. That's why I knew he wasn't lying," Derek said as he looked apologetically at J.J who gave him a small smile of understanding.

"So, Spencer doesn't often go to these parties?" Emily asked.

"No, he told me he hasn't been to one in almost a year. He only does them when he's really hard up for cash. Seemed like it was something of a last resort for him… And it was at that last party where he met LaRoux." Derek responded.

Hotch sighed heavily.

"Look, Derek," Hotch said, purposefully using the younger agent's name, "I understand why you want to protect Spencer. I don't want to put him in any unnecessary danger either. Of course, we'll try all we can do to avoid involving him in the investigation of this case, but Spencer's in a unique position that we can't really emulate using one of our own agents.

"Spencer's a part of this world, and he has the quickest and least suspicious access to information that we need. Since it's apparent we're already running into stonewalls at every turn with trying to figure out who the members of the club are, I highly doubt we'll be able to infiltrate the security of these parties any easier. While I'd prefer to send in one of you, these parties are exclusive and if you were ever able to get in, you'd stand out like sore thumbs. Spencer wouldn't have to be anyone but himself. So there's a chance that it could come down to us needing Spencer to go to one of these parties, if only just to get an idea of who attends."

Derek was silent as he took in his superior's words. He knew it was the truth. But, he didn't have to like it.

"Garcia, once you're able to get that members list, see if you can get any information from the club owners about their contact for these private parties. If we can have some way to compare the lists we might be able to whittle it down later to devise a suspect pool out of the names that overlap on the two lists." Hotch said.

"Can do," Garcia responded. "I'll be in touch as soon as I have anything new, sir."

"Alright, that'll be all for now. Thank you, Garcia." Hotch said and the agents were met with the sound of her call disconnecting.

"Ok, everyone, that's good for now. We need to make some headway with the old cases and see if there's anything that can help us catch this guy, and quick." Hotch said to his team.

"Prentiss and Rossi, make sure you talk to whoever you can before you guys fly back out tonight. The lead detectives are a must, but if any of the witnesses or the victims' family members are available make sure you at least get a call in to them while you're over there." Hotch told the two remote agents.

"No problem, Hotch," Prentiss responded.

"Alright, have a safe flight back. We'll see you two tomorrow morning," Hotch told them and listened as the two agents signed off.

"Come on you two," Hotch said as he turned to J.J. and Derek and indicated to the large file boxes sitting on the conference table. "We've got a lot of case to cover."

J.J. and Derek smiled ruefully and reached for the thick file folders.

* * *

><p>Dragging his feet as he finally made his way into his hotel room, Derek all but tumbled into his bed. It was a little past 11:00pm and after only having had about four hours sleep the previous night, he currently felt like he was running on fumes. They had been working the case non-stop, with little to no leads and they were expected to be back at the station first thing in the morning to follow up with Prentiss and Rossi about the California cases. Not bothering to change out of his work clothes, Derek quickly toed off his boots and pulled the comforter over his frame. Sleep was the only thing on his mind and he quickly succumbed.<p>

_Derek found himself standing in a dark, empty room. He immediately knew he was dreaming, but this was unlike the types of dreams he was accustomed to experiencing. Usually, his dreams threw him headfirst into an altercation with a past suspect, or alternatively, into past life experiences from his childhood, the type he would sooner forget. But, now, he was in an otherwise unremarkable room. He could see nothing; he could hear nothing. But he felt hot, like the air itself was thick. He could __**feel **__the sweat forming on his skin, even though he knew none of this was real. _

_Suddenly, a spotlight illuminated an image about ten feet ahead of him. He felt himself draw in a stuttering breath as his eyes quickly registered what the light was shining on. Or, __**who**__, to be exact. It was Spencer. _

_Spencer Reid (or an apparition of him, Derek thought to himself) was sitting with his back facing him on a large round bed in the middle of the endless room. He was perched atop a plush, red sheet. From behind, Derek could tell that Spencer wasn't wearing much, just a pair of pink shorts, a red choker and black suspenders. He was kneeling, with his pert bottom nestled atop his long calves. As usual, he was wearing his black Converses. Derek watched silently as the boy's delicate shoulder blades flexed as he stretched, rolling and arching his long back slightly, as if he had grown tired of waiting. _

_At that moment, the boy turned and looked over his shoulder at the agent, causing Derek's breath to catch. Spencer was wearing those glasses; the black-framed, wide-lensed ones he had seen him with on the street earlier. His hair was tousled, his eyes were wide, and his pink lips were slightly parted in a pout. _

'_Agent Morgan,' the boy panted in a soft breath, his voice sending jolts of desire straight to Derek's groin. 'I-I need you… __**please. **__Don't make me wait…'_

_Derek couldn't stop his feet from stepping forward, his body pulled by the boy's voice. Spencer's pale body undulated as he inhaled and exhaled deeply. _

_He watched as the boy ran a hand up through his wavy, chestnut-brown hair and grasped it, pulling at the roots. A slight mewl escaped the boy's lips. _

'_Please,' he repeated, the sound of urgency apparent in his voice._

'_What's wrong, Pretty Boy?' Derek asked as he reached Spencer's side and cautiously stepped around the side of the bed so he could look at the boy fully._

_Finally seeing the boy in his entirety, Derek inhaled sharply. Spencer's pupils were wide, almost fully obscuring the honey-color of his eyes. As he took in the agent's presence, his small pink tongue darted out to run over his plump bottom lip and he moaned. Derek couldn't help echoing a groan of his own as his eyes feasted on the sight. The boy's cheeks and neck were flushed in pink, his narrow chest was shimmering slightly with sweat, and as Derek's eyes trailed downward, he could see the obvious bulge in the front of the boy's tight pants._

'_Please, I need you…please touch me,' Spencer whined as he closed his eyes and leaned backward sliding his hands on the bed behind him and pushing his chest and crotch out for the agent's attention._

'_P-pretty boy, I… __**Spencer**__, I __**can't**__,' Derek choked out, his eyes quickly darting over the delectable platter laid out before him. _

'_Please, __**please**__! I only want you Agent Morgan… not them… I don't want anyone else to touch me,' Spencer said as he ran one hand up the right side of his chest, fingers lingering on his small nipple. _

_For some reason, that single supplication kicked Derek into action, and, tossing all sense of reason and propriety to the side, he pressed one knee on to the bed and leaned down to breathe in the skin on the boy's long, exposed neck. The warm smell of cinnamon and coffee filled his senses. Tentatively, as if he were afraid the boy would disappear, Derek placed his hands on the boy's bare arms, gaining a soft moan from him._

'_Mmm… please...touch me more… you know where I want it,' Spencer moaned as he bucked his hips slightly. _

_Derek gulped, feeling light-headed. He gripped Spencer's arms tightly, in an effort to restrain himself._

'_Pretty Boy… I can't, you know I can't…' he groaned out._

_The boy's eyes fluttered open and now, the closest he had ever been to the boy, Morgan was able to see the flecks of gold in his irises. He watched as the boy's lips turned down into a pout and Derek struggled with himself not to lean down and capture those lips between his teeth._

_But Spencer leaned forward instead, pressing his bare chest against the agent's. ('When did I lose my shirt?' Derek wondered to himself). He felt Spencer shift and wind his hand behind his back. He shuddered as he felt the boy's cool, long fingers stroking the small of his back. He then gasped as he felt Spencer's other hand at the front of his pants, lightly stroking his zipper._

'_Pretty Boy,' Derek hissed through clenched teeth as he grabbed the boy's hand in mid-stroke, stalling his movements, 'D-don't do that… __**please**_ _don't do that.'_

'_But, I want to touch you,' Spencer breathed out against his neck, soft, warm breath tickling the tiny hairs there. _

_Derek wanted to push the boy away—he knew he should—but Spencer's body was so hot, he found it impossible._

_Then Spencer shifted again. Parting his legs and sliding forward, he settled himself on top of Derek's knee, pressing the heat between his legs down on Derek's thigh and causing the older man to groan with need. _

'_Mmm,' Spencer moaned as he rocked and ground himself against Derek, 'Please, don't leave me like this…want you, Agent Morgan... __**need you**_…'

Derek's eyes snapped open. He was staring at his ceiling, breathing ragged and forehead slick with sweat. Most troubling however, was the painfully hard erection he could feel standing at attention between his legs. His eyes wide, he tried to make sense of what he was thinking. Had he just had a dream about…Spencer Reid?

But his mind was only his for a few seconds as his thoughts wandered back to the breathy pants, pouty lips, and insistent, thrusting hips. Growling in frustration, Derek whipped back the thin sheets and shoved his hands down the front of his pants. Grasping his length at the base, he quickly pulled the thick appendage from its confines and gave it a quick, satisfying pump. Groaning in pleasure and letting his eyes slide closed, he immediately saw the image of Spencer's large eyes, open lips and flushed cheeks. His hand picked up pace, sliding up and down, and quickly becoming slick. Grunting, Derek thrust upwards into his tight fist, imagining Spencer's lips…Spencer's thighs…Spencer's ass… and he came. Hard.

Panting, Derek released his tight grip on his length and sighed, lazily running his hand over the sheets as he rode out the after-effects of his orgasm. As his breathing began to regulate, he tried not to think. He didn't _want_ to think about what he had just done. He had just jerked off to Spencer Reid. Nineteen-year-old, key witness in a murder investigation, _Spencer Reid_… He felt disgusted with himself.

How could he have dreamed of something like that? Seeing Spencer like a sex object made him just as bad as the creeps who frequented the club. Since when did he go from wanting to protect the boy to wanting to… claim him? What did that mean… how was he supposed to feel about that? And then he asked himself the question he had been avoiding asking since the first time he saw Spencer.

_Why am I thinking about another man anyway_? He thought to himself, chest rising and falling with his labored breaths.

Derek didn't like men, at least not to _his_ knowledge. But, from whatever his dream was telling him, apparently his mind could make an exception for Spencer. Derek didn't know if he should give any serious attention to what could probably be an alarming personal realization about himself. At least he didn't want to think about it _now. _ As a defense, his mind rattled off all the psychological explanations one could cite to to explain dreaming about another man. But, with all those justifications and theories, a voice at the back of his head still reminded him that, no matter what any textbook said, he had been _aroused_. Not merely intrigued, but heart-hammering orgasm-inducing aroused.

Feeling overwhelmed by guilt, Derek turned on to his side. He had promised Spencer he would protect him. Not objectify and sully him like all the other men the kid probably dealt with in his day-to-day life. Spencer was an attractive kid. Fine, Derek could admit that. But that didn't excuse his behavior. He had dealt with numbers of attractive individuals in the past cases he had covered as a member of the BAU. He had never had these conflicted feelings before. And he had definitely never had this type of dream. But what bothered Derek the most, and what he knew would probably keep him up half the night, was the fact that he had no idea how he would be able to look Spencer in the eye tomorrow.

* * *

><p>It was a little past midnight when Spencer's cellphone began to ring. Sitting up in confusion, Spencer realized he must have fallen asleep while making his way through the books he had bought earlier today. He had been on the fourth one. Frowning as he fished his phone out of his pocket and glanced at his watch, he wondered who would be calling this late. He didn't have many friends, and even fewer who would be calling him at this time of night. Assuming it was a colleague from work, or, more likely, one of the ever-persistent FBI agents, Spencer flipped open the phone. Seeing that it was an unknown number, his eyebrows furrowed, but he pressed the button to accept the call.<p>

"Hello?" Spencer asked, voice showing his displeasure.

"Spencer," an unfamiliar voice said, delight apparent in his tone.

"Um, yes? Who is this?" Spencer asked back, now feeling more awake.

Instead of answering Spencer's immediate question, the voice posed one of his own.

"Did you like my gift?"

Spencer felt fear ricochet into his chest and squeeze it like a vice.

"Y-your…gift?" Spencer asked, fearing who the voice could possibly belong to, but, subconsciously already knowing.

"Yes, yes. The gift I left just for you. To show you that I want to take care of you. That I'm willing to keep you… It's so you know who you _belong _to…" the man said, his voice almost a purr.

Spencer couldn't believe what he was hearing. Or _who_ he was hearing, as a matter of fact.

"I… I don't understand," was the only thing Spencer could think of to say.

"But, Spencer, you see… I can't really understand why you had to call the police… and the _Feds_," the man continued, as if he hadn't heard Spencer's words.

The panic within him was rising, making Spencer almost nauseous with fear, and he gripped the fabric of his pants to calm himself.

"_I_ didn't call them…t-the police they came on their own and I-" Spencer sputtered out, but was cut off yet again.

"Don't you know _I_ can protect you, Spencer? That's what I'm here for! I got rid of LaRoux, that disgusting pig. He told me all about his… _tastes_, and how much he liked you. It was vile. So, I knew I had to keep you safe from him," the man explained.

Spencer's eyes widened.

"Y-you killed Mr. Victor because…" he breathed out in disbelief.

"Yes, of course. I had to protect you. You should feel honored, Spencer. Not many can say they have had the good fortune to fall within my favor. But you… you're special…" the man said quietly.

Spencer felt like he couldn't get enough air. The terror that gripped him was almost suffocating.

"I…but he wasn't…" Spencer finally forced out, feeling tears prickling at the corner of his eye.

"Do NOT defend him!" the man said with a sharp tone. "These men that you lower yourself for, they trick you with their lies Spencer… they don't love you, and they can't take care of you. None of them are like me. They don't understand what a rare and beautiful treasure you are."

Spencer was silent, not knowing how to respond to the man's crazed assertions.

"Now, be a good boy until I'm ready for you. Do you hear me?" the man warned, a slight edge taking over his voice.

Unsure of what to say, Spencer whispered out a soft "yes," and listened as the line went dead.

_Oh shit,_ Spencer thought to himself as the phone slipped from his hands.

* * *

><p>AN: Really… it's not my _intention_ to always end chapters with so much emotional intensity. I swear! Haha. I just end them in a place where it seems to make the most sense to transition to a different scene. So, my apologies if I'm giving you all an ulcer ;P.

A lot happened in this chapter! Eek. Let me know what you guys think! I hope the dream sequence (as in that it _was _a dream) was pretty self-explanatory. I didn't think I had to indicate 'italics' means dream and 'dream starts/ends here.' If you found it confusing to read without those, though, let me know and I'll consider how to make it clearer. (Oh, and I hope the little teaser of smut was to your liking as well ;p)

Until next time,

Xoxo


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Disclaimer (I'm only remembering this on _Chapter 6_! Eep!): I do NOT own Criminal Minds, nor am I making any profit off of this story. This is a work of fiction. Criminal Minds is the sole property of the CBS Corporation.

A/N: I live on the upper east coast and it's "Snowpocalypse 2015." That means I'm not leaving the house, and you get a new chapter! Yay! :3

So, hi again everyone, and thanks for coming back for another dose of _Pretty Boy_! In this chapter we'll finally get to hear some of Spencer's back story (told mostly through flashback). It's going to be a long chapter (32pp last time I checked). But hopefully not too depressing that you don't want to come back. The ending/beginning of the flashback will be denoted by '(xxx)' and breaks between the flashback scenes will be denoted by '(())()).' I had a lot of trouble with making these show up while I was uploading, so I hope that the formatting doesn't back fire on me u.u. I'm definitely still trying to get a hang of it and the chapters always look a bit strange when I post…

**TRIGGER** warning: Discussions/depictions of the sexual abuse of a minor (I don't think it's super graphic, but you'll have to judge for yourself)

Thank you to everyone who left comments and subscribed/favorited! Special shout outs to my beta Eskimita! 3

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Derek sipped his coffee and sighed to himself as he thought about the events of the past hour. Yet again, he had been the recipient of a nerve-wracking middle-of-the-night call from Spencer Reid. This time, however, he had already been awake. He did not want to spend much time rehashing <em>why <em>he had been unable to sleep, the vestiges of that disturbing dream lurking at the periphery of his consciousness. The guilt and shame he was feeling would likely consume him if he let himself linger too long.

After speaking with Hotch about the rushed account the kid had given him over the phone, the unit chief told Derek the team would head straight to the station. Spencer would come with the on-duty officer stationed outside his apartment. The agents had all immediately piled into one of the dark SUVs and made their way over. As soon as he stepped through the doors and had a moment to himself to think clearly, Derek felt a sense of dread at the thought of seeing Spencer so soon after his… 'vivid' dream. And when Derek saw Spencer being escorted into the lobby approximately 20 minutes after the agents had arrived, Derek went out of his way to avoid eye contact.

There was a lot of activity and for the first few minutes, as J.J. helped usher Spencer into one of the small interview rooms, Derek was able to avoid any and all interaction with the boy. He didn't even greet him. But, after the door closed and he was alone with Spencer, J.J. and Hotch, Derek could feel the heavy weight of Spencer's eyes on him. He knew Spencer's eyes were searching for his, and overtaken by guilt, Derek quickly glanced up and forced a tight-lipped smile. Spencer looked shaken up, eyes wide and face pale, but he returned a small smile. Derek quickly looked away, but not fast enough to miss the hurt look that replaced Spencer's smile. Wanting to kick himself for causing Spencer to make a face like that, Derek instead positioned himself against the wall, taking a back seat to the action, as J.J. took a seat at the table, and Hotch hovered nearby.

"Spencer," Hotch began as he motioned to a seat, indicating the boy should sit down, "we need to get a better idea of what transpired in that call you received about an hour ago."

Spencer lowered himself into the offered seat and ran a shaky hand through his tousled hair. Glancing at the younger man and taking in his tired eyes and unkempt appearance, Derek wondered to himself if Spencer had gotten any sleep at all.

"O-ok… I'll tell you whatever you need to know," Spencer said softly.

Derek felt his hands close into fists. He really wanted to reach out and touch Spencer. Give the boy some sort of comfort. But, for right now he knew he had to keep his distance. At least until he worked through his conflicted emotions.

Hotch looked back at Derek, as if to indicate he expected the younger agent to take over the interview. But Derek knew that he didn't yet trust himself to be alone in a room with Spencer. The images from the dream would bubble up every time he let his thoughts wander.

"I…" Derek began as he looked away from Hotch and crossed his arms over his chest. "I think J.J. should handle the interview."

Both J.J. and Hotch looked at him with surprise, and Derek could feel Spencer's eyes on him, although he had no idea what expression the boy was making.

Hotch paused for a moment, but then nodded and turned to J.J.

"I think that's a good idea. We'll be outside," Hotch informed her.

J.J. smiled at Spencer who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

Hotch walked over to the door and opened it, motioning for Derek to follow him out. Avoiding making eye contact with the small, hunched over form seated at the table, Derek pushed away from the wall and followed Hotch out the door. As the door closed behind him, Derek could hear J.J. speaking to Spencer in a soothing voice and asking the boy if he wanted any coffee before they started.

Outside, Derek stood next to Hotch, silently watching the interview through the two-way mirror. They were both surprised by the information they learned. Sitting across from J.J. and staring almost vacantly at his hands, Spencer repeated the phone conversation he had had with the unknown male word for word. When J.J. questioned him on his certainty, and suggested that maybe he had misheard or misremembered any part of the conversation, Spencer had informed her that he had an eidetic memory. _That_ was news to Derek.

Listening to the content of the conversation, which was more in-depth than the little Spencer had been able to tell him during their rushed phone conversation, Derek was disgusted by the implications of the Unsub's words. The Unsub had made it clear—the purpose of the collar was to tell Spencer that he owned him. He had also admitted to killing LaRoux _for _Spencer. Derek wondered how that knowledge would affect the boy. What he found the most distressing, however, was the Unsub's unambiguous intent to come back for Spencer. He had told the boy to wait for him. Derek wondered how long it would be before the Unsub acted on his promise.

Hotch had also seemed disturbed by the implications of the phone call and his usually stoic face was creased with worry.

"Garcia traced the call but she wasn't able to get any useful information." Hotch informed Derek. "She said the call came from a payphone…on Spencer's street."

Derek couldn't control himself as he slammed his hand against the wall in anger.

"This son of a bitch was standing outside Spencer's apartment as he made the call?" Derek growled out.

"Seems so…" Hotch said.

"He's got a hell of a lot of nerve!" Derek responded.

"Well… we profiled him as meticulous and efficient. It's not surprising that boldness would come along with that. After doing this for so long and getting away with it I'm sure he's confident in his abilities and doesn't think he'll get caught," Hotch offered, objectively.

A silence passed between the two agents as they continued to watch J.J through the glass pane. They could see her struggling to get Spencer to come out of the shell he had burrowed himself into. It was a slow pace, but little by little Spencer was becoming more responsive to her questions.

After a moment Hotch spoke up again, eyes still trained on the interview.

"It… might be time to for us to step in and take a more active role in protecting Spencer. It doesn't sit well with me that he was able to get into Spencer's building twice, and was even so bold as to stand on the street and call him even though he knew there was an officer stationed there. I don't want to think how easily it would be for him to just break into Spencer's apartment and take what he wants…" Hotch said somberly.

Derek kept his eyes down, unwilling to show them to Aaron, not sure what he would give away if he did.

"I…I can do that Hotch," he volunteered.

The exhausted sigh he heard in response made him cringe a bit.

"You can't do it by yourself, Morgan. We'll have to rotate. This is a big case and I'll have to use you when and where I feel is most advantageous. And we need to stay focused for today when Rossi and Prentiss come back with the California case files. Deciding how we're going to go about divvying up the responsibilities will have to wait until later in the day. Until then, I'm going to leave the police detail on him." Hotch said.

"Understood… I just want to be the first one to step up. I… I feel kind of responsible since I keep telling him we'll protect him, but he keeps getting hurt…" Derek said with a sigh.

Hotch turned to face his subordinate.

"But, Morgan, you're _not_ responsible. No matter what happens, this is a team effort. The FBI has made a promise to Spencer; it's not a personal one from you. You don't have to carry this on your shoulders all by yourself. We'll figure out a way to do this together. " Hotch told him.

Derek nodded silently, but he still couldn't look at Hotch.

The interview came to an end soon after that, and Derek watched as J.J. guided Spencer out into the hallway. The two agents walked over to meet her. As Derek came close he could see Spencer was standing close to J.J., as if taking shelter in her presence.

Derek felt compelled to try to work past his reservations and engage with Spencer. Even though his guilt was causing his stomach to clench uncomfortably, he knew that was no reason to turn his back on Spencer. Especially now that they had heard the extent of the Unsub's threat.

"Hey, kid," Derek said, trying to gain Spencer's attention. But it seemed Spencer wanted nothing to do with him. The snub stung more than Derek wanted to admit.

"Uh… I'm sorry things are getting so out of control. But we're going to step up our surveillance and we'll be personally watching you this time, Spencer. I'll even take the first shift and come by a little later today so I can stay with you." Derek explained.

Spencer glanced up at him, his eyebrows lowered in anger.

"That's fine. I don't need that." Spencer said, curtly.

Hotch and J.J. exchanged a look.

"What?" Derek asked, eyebrow raised.

"I don't need your help, Agent. Thank you. Besides, I have things to do today." Spencer said as he locked eyes with Derek.

"Things to do? Kid, are you serious right now? I think you need to stay put. There's a _killer_ after you," Derek responded, feeling anger starting to build in his stomach.

Hotch and J.J. seemed about to intervene when Spencer let out an angry huff.

"I don't _care_ what you think. I have to visit my mother." Spencer said, matter-of-factly.

"Visit your mother? Don't you think this might be a good day to skip?" Morgan barked at him.

"No!" Spencer snapped, petulantly.

Seeing that the two would very soon devolve into a heated argument in the middle of the police station, J.J. put up her hands up to get their attention.

"Maybe you should let someone go with you then?" she offered, looking at Spencer.

"Fine! Whatever. But not _him_," Spencer said as he pointed at Derek.

Derek's eyes widened and he started to respond when Hotch placed a hand on his arm and shook his head, effectively bridling the agitated agent.

J.J. pursed her lips as she looked between the three men. She then sighed.

"Spencer, we still need you to sign the statement you gave. How about you come with me?" she asked as she motioned towards the front desk, obviously trying to distract Spencer.

The boy frowned but agreed, and followed behind the blonde agent.

Derek watched as Spencer turned away from him and couldn't help but notice the dirty look the boy shot him over his shoulder.

Hotch walked Derek into the break room and watched as the younger man angrily stormed over to the coffee table.

"So… that was interesting," Hotch stated, eyebrow raised in surprise.

The unit chief had thought Spencer had warmed up to Derek. And it _had_ seemed like Spencer was happy to see Derek when he first arrived at the station. But it was apparent something had changed between them. He was sure it was related in some part to Derek's obvious awkwardness around Spencer and his refusal to interview him. While Hotch was glad Derek had backed off and was allowing the team to function as it was supposed to, he couldn't say he necessarily understood _why _Derek had done so.

"I don't know what's wrong with that kid, Hotch! He's so reckless." Derek huffed as he began pouring hot coffee into one of the disposable cups. "_This_ is why I can't feel comfortable letting others watch him."

"Well, let me know if you change your mind about wanting to be the first assigned to watching him," Hotch teased with a small upturn of his lip as he patted Derek on the shoulder. "I'm going to go get the copies of his statement. You take some time to cool off. "

Derek rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," Derek said, as he frowned into his coffee.

And that was how J.J. found him when she walked back into the break room a few minutes later.

"So, everything's squared away with Spencer." She announced. "He… seems a bit stand-offish with you. What's that about?"

Derek gave her a look, making it clear he had no intention of answering that question.

"Ok…" she said with an eye roll, as she made her way over to the coffee station.

"He did explain to me why he's so unwilling to pass on seeing his mother today, though. You know she's not well. So, Spencer believes it's really important for her stability if he maintains his weekly visits. Besides, he also said that seeing his mother makes him feel better," J.J. said with a soft smile, "so I think this'll be good for him."

"I see that, J.J. But, he's being _stalked_. I think his safety is first priority," Derek stated, all signs of hostility gone from his voice.

"True, but I also think his mental well-being is just as important to protect as his physical one. He'll have a uniformed officer take him up there and stay with him the whole time. You don't have to worry, Derek." J.J. said. .

Before Derek could respond, he saw Spencer through the open doorway. The boy was flanked by Hotch on one side and a uniformed officer on the other. Derek watched as Hotch laid a hand on Spencer's shoulder and motioned to the officer who was holding his hand out to the boy. Spencer then nodded shyly and shook the other man's hand. Hotch said something to the boy and then motioned to the doors. The officer then led Spencer out, and, just like that, the boy was gone.

Hotch walked back to where J.J. and Derek were watching from and signaled to them.

"Ok, it's 2:15," he said as he glanced down at his watch. "I think we should all head back to the hotel and try to get as much sleep as we can. We have to be ready to go again at 9 and I need you all sharp."

Derek nodded silently, eyes still trained on the glass doors Spencer had just departed from. He hoped the kid would be okay, and hoped even more that the uniformed officer could be trusted to watch him carefully. Derek also knew that he would have to do some work to gain Spencer's trust again. It wasn't fair that he had given the kid the cold shoulder just because he felt too guilty to look him in the eye. He knew he couldn't tell Spencer the real reason, but he could at least try to make him understand it hadn't been personal.

"Derek?" J.J. asked as she leaned against the door.

Looking up, Derek could see that both Hotch and J.J. were waiting near the exit, giving him curious looks.

"Sorry, guys," he said, forcing a smile. "Not even coffee's enough to make up for all this missed sleep. Hopefully I'll zone out less once I get some rest."

J.J. gave a laugh of agreement.

"Come on, then! The longer we wait for you the less time we get to spend in our beds," she said as she held the door open for him.

Chuckling softly, Derek nodded his agreement and followed them out the door.

* * *

><p>Eight hours later, Spencer was walking into the recreation room of the Bennington Sanitarium. Officer McCarthy, who Spencer thought was quiet but kind, had been nice enough to stand out in the hallway. Spencer appreciated that. He had never brought another person with him on his visits to the Sanitarium. He felt like it was in some way an invasion of his mother's privacy to bring a stranger into what she had slowly grown to consider her zone of safety.<p>

Noticing his mother sitting at the farthest corner of the room in front of the window and with a book in her lap, Spencer felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. His mother was staring off out the window, chin resting thoughtfully on her fist, as if she was deep in thought. Knowing Diana Reid and her brilliant mind, Spencer was sure she was probably currently debating some well-known 15th century literature critic, and most likely winning.

Chuckling to himself at the thought, Spencer made his way across the room until he came to a stop at Diana's side.

"H-hey, Mom," he said softly as he reached out and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Diana jumped slightly, startled by the touch, but when she turned her eyes lit up with recognition and Spencer let out a sigh of relief. Today was one of her 'good' days. She knew who he was.

"Spencer!" Diana said with a vibrant smile. "You came to see me. How wonderful!"

"Yeah, Mom. Of course I came. I wouldn't miss our visits for the world." Spencer said as he lowered himself in the seat beside her. "How are you?"

Diana smiled softly as she adjusted her house coat and ran a hand absently over her short, blonde hair.

"As good as I can be, baby. But, don't worry about me. How are _you_?" she asked, looking into Spencer's eyes.

Spencer glanced away and shrugged.

"I'm fine, Mom, don't worry." He told her.

Diana made a sort of clucking sound in the back of her throat.

"Spencer, I'm your mother. Mothers know when things aren't right with their children," she informed him simply, as if she were talking to a child.

Even with his mother's insightful words, Spencer continued to avert his gaze, choosing instead to look down at his hands.

"What is it? Is it work? Is the bookstore not giving you enough hours?" she asked inquisitively.

Spencer felt his face heat up. His mother thought he worked at a _bookstore_. Obviously, that was a lie he had told her himself. But he felt badly that he was lying to her and every time she brought it up, he felt even guiltier. But it wasn't like he could tell her he took his clothes off for money…

"Uh… everything's fine there, Mom. I'm g-getting enough hours," he said as he forced himself to look up and smile at her.

Diana frowned as she looked at her young son. He had grown so much over the years, her lanky little boy. But, even now, at his impressive height, Spencer still sat, curled in on himself, as if he was trying to take up as little space as possible. And his shoulders were hunched, as usual. She knew Spencer always carried so much on those thin shoulders. He always felt that it was his job to deal with things on his own. And she knew that much of the reason for this had to do with her and her sickness, but she would never want her son to look so…defeated.

"If it isn't the job, then what is it honey?" she asked softly as she leaned over and clasped her hand over his.

"I-it's nothing Mom," Spencer said as he squeezed her hand back.

The two Reids stared at each other silently for a few moments.

"Spencer Reid," Diana said firmly. "I'm still your mother. Tell me what's going on with you."

Spencer blinked in surprise, suddenly brought back to his mother during his childhood, and reminded of the times when things weren't so bad… weren't so shaky.

Smiling ruefully, Spencer bowed his head and licked his dry lips.

"I…Mom, what do you do if you feel like everything's slipping out of your control and you… you just don't have any idea how to handle it?" he asked softly.

He felt Diana's hand squeeze his even tighter.

"What… are you talking about Spencer?" she asked, voice sounding pained.

Hearing the distress in his mother's voice, Spencer quickly looked up with wide eyes, suddenly realizing what his mother must've thought.

_She thinks I'm showing signs of getting sick…sick like her_, Spencer thought with panic.

"No, Mom. No, it's nothing like that," he offered comfortingly as he took both her hands in his.

He felt her physically relax as she tightened her grip on his hands.

"Ok… that's good," she whispered quietly as she glanced around the large room, "I... I don't want you to end up somewhere like this Spencer."

Spencer felt a sharp twinge of pain at that admission, wondering if she still resented him for placing her here. But he didn't see any hostility in her eyes, only sympathy.

"So… what's going on that has you so worked up?" she asked softly.

"I… I don't really know how to explain it. I'm not sure I really can, Mom." Spencer said.

"Hmm," Diana said as she looked down at the top of her son's bowed head. "Well, the first thing I would tell you to do, Spencer, is to stop thinking that you have to solve all your problems yourself."

Spencer continued to stare down at his hands, interlocked with his mother's, and said nothing.

"Look at me, Spencer," she said in that familiar, firm tone.

With no hesitation, Spencer looked up training his honey-colored eyes on his mother's.

Reaching over to stroke his face, lovingly, Diana sighed with good-natured frustration.

"You need to trust others more, baby. You have a good heart, that's rare in this day and age. And it's a wonderful thing. It gives you strength and power. And it will allow you to pick out those who will hurt you and those who are here to help you. When you find a really good person, you should keep them close to you, and rely on them. Let them help you in your times of need. There's no reason to go through any of this on your own." She said, looking at him meaningfully.

Spencer was speechless. He hadn't heard his mother talk like this in… years.

"And…you know I'm sorry I can't be there to help you," she stated.

Spencer was quick to try to assuage her concerns, but she stopped him before he could speak.

"No, no, Spencer. Let me say this. I'm your mother. All I ever want is to be there every day for you…to protect you. You had to grow up so fast and instead you ended up being the one taking care of _me_. All I could ever hope for you is that you find someone who can take care of you just as well as you did for me," she said with a soft smile.

"Oh, mom…" Spencer breathed out, feeling his chest constrict with emotion. "You know I never-"

"Spencer," she said cutting him off. "I want you to enjoy your life, you hear me? Stop worrying about me. And remember to take care of _yourself_. You're so skinny! Are you eating enough?"

Spencer found himself chuckling, and quickly blinking away the stinging tears that had threatened to form in the corners of his eyes. He knew what his mother was doing. This was an age-old conversation they always had. And she was trying to make him laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, Mom" he said, with a smile. "I'm eating."

"I don't believe that for a minute, Spencer Reid. 'Eating' doesn't mean drinking four cups of coffee and eating a Rice Krispy treat once in a while when you remember."

Spencer blushed at this accusation. He had definitely had two cups of coffee and a Rice Krispy bar for breakfast this morning.

"See what I mean!" Diana said as she shoved his shoulder playfully. "You'll have to have lunch with me, then. I'll make sure Dr. Peters tells the staff to prepare you a plate. And they'll pile it high with vegetables and protein for you."

"Oh, come on, Mom," Spencer whined, but couldn't help his laugh.

"Spencer, I won't take 'no' for an answer," Diana said firmly.

"Ok, ok." Spencer smiled. "I'll be honored to join you for lunch, then."

"Good, I can introduce my handsome son to all my friends here. I'm sure they'll be green with envy," she said teasingly.

"Ugh," Spencer groaned, as he rolled his eyes.

"Just humor your mother, dear," she told him.

"Fine, fine," Spencer replied with a small smile.

Smiling in triumph, Diana squeezed Spencer's hand reassuringly, and Spencer squeezed hers back, silently telling her his thanks. Words were unnecessary.

* * *

><p>The members of the BAU stood tiredly around their borrowed conference table as they sorted through their breakfast sandwich and coffee orders. Prentiss and Rossi were just as tired as the rest of their team as they had stayed longer in Los Angeles than intended because they had taken time late in the day to re-interview some of the victims' loved ones. Hotch had updated them on the previous night's occurrences and both agents expressed their concern for the young Spencer Reid.<p>

"This is getting ridiculous," Emily said as she settled into one of the seats around the table and situated her breakfast in front of her. "How does this guy keep slipping past us?"

Hotch did little more than grunt as he took a seat as well. It was really starting to irk the team leader that this Unsub was proving to be so resourceful. It went against his nature to keep calm in the face of such a challenge to his team's efficacy, but as the face of the BAU, he couldn't let his ire show.

"We need to stop chasing this guy," Rossi said, as he and the other agents took their places at the table. "How do we get in front of him?"

"Only with a complete profile. We have to figure out who he is." Hotch said, an edge to his voice.

The other four agents in the room exchanged concerned glances.

Hotch then leaned over and pressed the speed dial button on their phone.

After one ring, the call engaged and Hotch responded with a curt, "Garcia."

"Good morning, my doves!" she said cheerily.

"Garcia," Hotch said, getting to business quickly. "We need to know all you were able to gather. We can't continue to work with such a slipshod profile."

Sensing the mood, Garcia quickly adapted.

"Yes, sir. I actually made quite a lot of leeway since we last talked. First, I was able to get the membership list from the club. Mum's the word on how I managed to do that, though," Garcia said.

Derek couldn't help but smile at the tech analyst's words.

"The membership consists of a bunch of big shots. And to get in, you have to pay an annual fee of $5000. Not an impossible amount, but this is definitely not the kind of money an average person dishes out for a hobby. This fee gives access to the club and the main shows, but doesn't include the drinks, food, or any of the lap dances, champagne room service, or private shows. However, it does allow members immediate access to those off-site events Spencer mentioned." Garcia informed them.

The agents absorbed the information silently as they began to dig into their meals and listened to the sound of her quick fingers typing in the background.

"Apparently, when members enter the club, they just have to flash some sort of pendant, which apparently changes every year. Because that pendant is enough of an identifier, the management doesn't keep a list of those who enter the club and, thus can always, conveniently, deny knowledge of who is in attendance at any given time. They also don't keep a guest list for the parties, I'm assuming for the same reasons. The parties are a bit more lax in exclusivity, I'm guessing since they're held at private residences, but generally only members are allowed entrance. Guests can only accompany members with special permission." Garcia explained to them.

"Wow, great job, Garcia. You were able to find out a lot. I'm afraid to ask exactly _how _you found all that out," J.J. said teasingly. "But, from what you're saying, it sounds like it's possible that the Unsub's name might be on that list. How many are we talking about here?"

"Well… so far it seems like it's about 1800 names. This is a master list for a couple of clubs across different towns and different states. And before you ask, _yes_, some of these clubs were in California but none of them were located in Arizona. The other states that house these clubs are Texas, Florida and New York. Apparently that one-time fee lets you enter any of these clubs in other states and you get the same perks." Garcia explained.

"Hmm," Rossi said as he stroked his beard thoughtfully. "So, the clubs may or may not be connected to how he chooses his kills. Victor LaRoux's death was the only one that took place in a club, so, as of now, that location is actually an outlier. So even if the Unsub is meeting these men in these clubs, the club hasn't been important enough for him to kill in before. Plus, if the Unsub was only killing in states that had these clubs, it doesn't explain why he killed in Arizona but chose to ignore Texas, Florida or New York. He has killed multiple times, but exclusively in California, Nevada and Arizona. He _chose_ to stay in a relatively small radius of these three states."

"Ok, well, we know he has to have some type of money," Emily said. "$5000 a year membership must mean he has disposable income. But, for some reason he chooses to stay within a small radius so maybe something is preventing him from traveling too far from home. Maybe a job, or a family?"

"I think you're definitely on track on the money front, Emily," Garcia responded. "The LVPD faxed me over the crime scene analyst's report on the gifts that Spencer received and they were all of extremely high quality. Unfortunately, this Unsub is a clever duck because, while they were expensive, none of them were 'ultra-rare' or only sold at specialty shops.

"The flowers were off-season, so they were more expensive than regular red roses. Only 4 florists in the immediate area sell them, but they are a popular item and none of the stores keep records of items purchased with cash. The…'collar,' while plain, was made from some very nice leather and came from a specific chain of leatherworker stores. But I was informed that it could have been ordered from one of their 40 stores across the country, or even purchased online. It costs about $800. Same goes for the nameplate. That's _real_ platinum. But again, it could have been purchased at any jewelry store in the nation. There is literally no way to track him using these items. So, sorry I couldn't be helpful there…"

"Well, hold on a minute Garcia. I do see it as being helpful. The fact that this man went to all this trouble tells me that maybe he's not doing this to impress that kid, per se…maybe he's just grown accustomed to a certain level of taste. When you have money, you gravitate towards purchasing high quality items because that's all you're used to. It wouldn't cross his mind to get run of the mill items," Rossi suggested.

"Hmm… I'm not surprised you know that," Emily teased as she glanced at Rossi across the top of her coffee cup, "I'm sure your boots cost more than one of my paychecks."

Rossi shrugged with a smile, causing the other teammates to laugh.

"Well, if he's just used to having nice things it's unlikely that he only recently fell into money." Derek suggested after the chuckling died down.

"Good, that's something we can look into as well." Hotch said as he leaned closer to the phone. "Garcia, we're going to need you to whittle that list down and see if there's anyone on there with a wealthy family history and who also has a strong connection to Nevada, Arizona and California. The first kill took place in California, so that might be personal to him in some way. Follow the dates of the kills and track them to the movements of the members on that list. If anyone was in one of those states around the time of the murders, I want them flagged."

"Yes, sir," Garcia responded as she input the search parameters into her system. "It will take me some time though."

"That's fine." Hotch responded.

He then turned to Prentiss and Rossi.

"What happened with the California cases? Anything useful on that front?"

"Yes and no," Emily said, with a sigh.

"We were able to interview a few of the victims' family members and loved ones. We weren't able to see any immediate connections between the victims, though. There were some annoyed wives or spurned family members, but no one who said they weren't shocked to hear that the victim was dead. These weren't guys with targets on their backs. At least not obvious ones. They all just seemed like very ambitious men." Emily said as she shrugged.

"We did forward the information on to Garcia, however, and she said she would try to see if there were any connections that could be found on a statistical level. Any luck, PG?" she asked

"So far I've only found little hints and whispers of dirt in some of these men's lives, but nothing that could be substantiated through reports or records." Garcia answered.

"For example, one of the victims was a successful divorce attorney in Palo Alto. Apparently he was under investigation for helping his clients to fabricate information that would release them from a duty to pay alimony or child support. The story was that his clients could divorce their usually financially much worse off partners, scot-free, and the attorney would collect money under the table for having orchestrated this awful scheme. One of the wives, who ended up having to live in a homeless shelter after her husband left her, tried to file suit against the attorney but then suddenly she, and the case, disappeared."

"Ok… that's strange," J.J. said.

"Another one of the victims was an acclaimed psychiatrist. He had published a few books and even had a small tour. He was the head of a mental institution for women in Arizona. Similarly, allegations arose that he was sexually abusing his patients but no one believed them because they were mentally ill. Apparently a small investigation was undertaken, but then the medical board cleared him. But none of this appeared in the papers, and the good doctor did not have even a blemish in his professional record. I was only able to find this out through a community action blog that alleged the Board cleared him because they had been paid off." Garcia continued.

"And our first Nevada victim was a realtor who was tied up in a scandal involving the sale of houses for low-income families that were built on toxic land. There were rumors that he knowingly sold these houses to these families, taking all their savings, and leaving them with serious medical issues. But when an investigation was starting to begin, none of the witnesses would come forward and he was able to clear himself by arguing that he had no knowledge. And apparently the accusation had no impact on his professional reputation, either. At the time of his murder he was still working as a very successful realtor." Garcia stated, distaste apparent in her voice.

"So… is it possible that all of the victims have something like this in their pasts?" Emily asked.

"I haven't been able to fully investigate all of them. And I'm still trying to find some kind of dirt on LaRoux, but I think it's more than a coincidence that so many of these victims had allegations against them 'disappear' or investigations that were suddenly dropped." Garcia informed.

Hotch frowned as he absorbed the information.

"So… could the Unsub's motivation possibly be wealthy men that use their influence to avoid taking responsibility for their transgressions?" he murmured.

"We can't know for sure until Garcia finds the same connection among all the victims," Rossi offered, "but I think it's an interesting hypothesis. If these men are all wealthy it's possible they may run in similar circles as the Unusb. And if we're right, something about the fact that these men used their influence to escape justice is probably what is motivating him. So, Garcia, while you're looking for any overlap between the names of people on the list, make sure to keep an eye out for anyone who may have had something similar happen to him in his past. That may be our trigger."

"Will do, Sir," Garcia responded, fingers flying over the keyboard as she added the additional parameters to her search.

Derek had been paying rapt attention to his colleagues thoughts and suggestions, and was more than a little relieved that they were starting to build what looked to be a good profile. But he couldn't help but voice the thought that had been gnawing at him for the past few minutes.

"If that's what's motivating the Unsub, then how does Spencer play into all of this?" he asked.

The other agents looked around at each other, obviously unsure how to answer that question.

"Spencer is, and has always been, a confounding element. I'm not sure how he fits," Hotch admitted. "He isn't wealthy, and from what we were able to find, he never has been. He has no criminal record. In fact, he's too young to have made any kind of deleterious impact similar to the men we have been describing. It's unclear how he even got on to the Unsub's radar."

"He's not the Unsub's typical victim, that's for sure. Although he's definitely targeting Spencer, it seems more like he's _courting_ him," Emily said, distaste at having had to use that word apparent in her expression. "As of now, I don't think this guy has any intention of killing Spencer… it seems more like he wants to 'keep' him."

"It's rare for an Unsub to switch focus, but maybe there's something about this kid that caught his attention… maybe changed the killing from mission-based to personal?" Rossi hypothesized.

"Right," J.J. agreed. "Spencer told us that the Unsub said he killed LaRoux _for_ Spencer… as if he was protecting him from the man."

"So, we need to find out how the Unsub first learned about Spencer and what about him makes him special. In addition to that, we have to talk about who we're going to add to his protective detail. I think we should have agents or officers in his apartment, or at least stationed in the hallway, every night. I also need a complete background on all the victims by the end of the day, Garcia," Hotch said, directing his voice to the phone.

"And for the time being, I need each of you working on following up with those leads on the allegations we already know exist against the other victims," Hotch continued as he looked at his team.

Each agent nodded their agreement, their willingness to go above and beyond to break this case evident in each of their eyes.

"We've got a lot to cover," Hotch said as he got to his feet. "Let's get to work."

* * *

><p>It was just starting to get dark when Spencer finally walked into his apartment. Officer McCarthy had walked Spencer up to his door, ignoring Spencer's protests that he would be fine on his own. The man even insisted on looking around the apartment to make sure nothing was out of place. Satisfied, he bid Spencer a good night and told him if he needed anything he'd be parked right outside. Spencer felt embarrassed to need to be watched so carefully, but he couldn't lie that it helped him feel somewhat safer.<p>

Toeing off his sneakers by the door, Spencer walked across his small living room and into his kitchen. His stomach had been grumbling for most of the drive back down from Bennington. He had had a good day with his mother, and in addition to her piling his plate high and watching him like a hawk during lunch to make sure he ate every bit of it, he had played chess and completed a number of crosswords puzzles with her. After meeting quite a few of her 'friends' (all strange in their own unique ways), Spencer spent a few hours in his mother's room listening to her reading to him from Chaucer as she stroked his hair lovingly, just as she had when he was young. The day had slipped away from him quickly, and before he knew it one of the attendants was regretfully telling him visiting hours were over. He hadn't even noticed how much time had passed and that the sun was setting. Apologizing to the staff profusely, Spencer had kissed his mother goodbye and hurriedly vacated the premises.

Now he was back home, and while he felt he was thoroughly relaxed and in a better place after having seen his mother, he was shocked at how hungry he was. Sure, he had last eaten about six hours ago, but he was used to going a lot longer without meals. Eating just wasn't that important to him, lately. Now he wondered if maybe eating such a good lunch reminded his body what it was like to get regular, and nutritious, sustenance and now it was demanding to be properly taken care of. Laughing to himself a bit at the thought, Spencer pulled the door to the fridge open. His smile quickly turned to a frown.

_Oh yeah, _he thought to himself. _I don't really do grocery shopping_.

All that stared back at him in the fridge was a few bottles of water, one six-pack of beer (sans the beer he had drank yesterday), some butter, salad dressing, a few lone tomatoes, and a large container of coffee creamer. Sighing as he shut the kitchen door, he wondered where he could possibly order from.

A sudden pounding at his front door caused him to jump in shock. Fear immediately gripped him, as he wondered who it could possibly be. But, he quickly tried to talk himself down as he stepped out of the kitchen and stood in the living room, facing the closed door.

_There's no way the killer could get up here. McCarthy's parked downstairs and he wouldn't let anyone get past him, right? It's probably one of your stupid neighbors_, Spencer thought to himself, hopefully.

He then heard a familiar voice.

"Hey, kid! Open up! It's Agent Morgan! I know you're back, McCarthy checked in with us as you guys were leaving, so I timed it just right," Derek called from the other side of the door.

Staring in shock at the closed door from across the living room, Spencer couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Agent _Morgan_?" Spencer asked in shock, not moving from his spot.

"Yea, kid! It's me. Come on, open up. I've got take out and the longer you leave me out here the faster it'll go cold," Derek called from behind the door again.

Frowning to himself, Spencer considered leaving the impertinent agent exactly where he was, but an unbidden, and loud, growl from his stomach changed his mind.

_Well… I shouldn't really turn down free food_, Spencer thought to himself.

Sighing in exasperation, he stalked over to the door and quickly unlocked it. Grabbing the handle and swinging the door open, he stared at the smiling agent.

"Thai food," Derek said as he held up two large brown paper bags. "I hear this place is good."

Rolling his eyes, Spencer turned around and walked back into the living room.

Imagining that that would be the extent of any 'invitation' he would get to enter, Derek followed the boy into the room, nudging the door shut behind him.

"Can I ask what you're doing here, Agent Morgan?" Spencer asked as he stood across from the man, arms crossed over his chest and stance clearly broadcasting his displeasure.

"Well… I figured you could use a hot meal after all the stress from earlier. And besides, I wanted to talk to you," Derek said as he moved past the boy and into the living room, and placed the bags down on the coffee table. He then kicked off his shoes and settled on the couch.

Spencer watched with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape, as the agent made himself comfortable.

Blinking himself out of his stupor, Spencer stalked around the couch and came to a stop in front of Morgan.

"You what?" Spencer asked.

"Here, come take a seat. I didn't know what you'd want so I basically got all the popular dishes. So just take whatever you like," Derek said as he began to open the bags and remove plates, utensils, containers and bottles of water.

Spencer was speechless, but did as Derek bid anyway, slowly walking to the empty side of the couch and sitting down. He stared hard at the agent, but when Derek remained silent and continued to arrange the containers on the small coffee table, Spencer let out a frustrated sigh.

"You need to tell me why you're here right now, or you need to leave." Spencer said firmly.

Sighing, Derek stopped what he was doing and turned to face Spencer. The boy was giving him a guarded look—a mixture between annoyance, sadness and distrust.

"I… I wanted to apologize for how I acted earlier," Derek said sincerely.

Spencer flinched and narrowed his eyes, his expression showing his obvious disbelief.

"I know it was totally uncalled for, and you were probably very confused… I… I was just upset about some… personal things and I took it out on you. It was unfair and I should've been able to put it aside… I shouldn't have brought that with me to work, but I did. So I'm sorry that you got the brunt of that, ok? I know it took a lot for you to open up to me yesterday and I don't want you pulling back because of something like this. I want you to know you can trust me and rely on me. I don't want to do anything to shake your trust in me, Spencer," Derek said softly.

Spencer was silent for a moment as he stared at his lap and nibbled on his bottom lip. He couldn't help but think how much of a coincidence it was that Derek had said almost the same things his mother had said to him earlier. _Someone to trust and rely on, _he thought to himself, wondering if maybe the agent was the kind of person his mother had been talking about.

He couldn't deny that he had been hurt by Derek's cold shoulder this morning, especially after he had confided in the agent as he had, but he also couldn't discount the fact that Derek had actually apologized. He had made the effort to come over here, bearing gifts even, to ask for Spencer's forgiveness. That meant a lot to him.

When he finally looked up at Derek, Spencer's eyes still showed a bit of doubt but the hostility was gone.

"Personal things, huh?" Spencer asked with an arched eyebrow.

Derek looked away and shrugged. Spencer thought for a second he had seen color rise to the agent's cheeks, but told himself he must have just imagined it.

"It happens, kid," Derek said simply.

Spencer sighed, and out of the corner of his eye Derek could see the boy reaching over to the containers on the table.

"You got enough food here to feed an _army_," Spencer commented as he inspected one of the large plastic containers.

Derek laughed, feeling the tension leave his body. It seemed like Spencer had forgiven him for the moment… or was at least willing to give him another shot.

"Well, I said I didn't know what you liked. Besides, these leftovers would be enough to keep you nice and full for a couple of days," Derek said with a grin.

Spencer pursed his lips as he glanced at Derek.

"You sound like you think I don't feed myself," he said as he popped the lid off the container he had chosen.

"No offense kid, but from the looks of you I kind of think you _don't_," Derek said, chuckling slightly.

Spencer groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Ugh, you're starting to sound just like my _Mom_," Spencer said as he glanced away and began to spoon some rice on to his plate.

Derek smiled to himself.

"How _was_ the visit with your mom? Did it make you feel a little better?" Derek asked as he grabbed a plate and started to help himself.

Spencer paused in mid-scoop for a second, as if he were debating divulging the information, but then smiled and continued serving himself.

"Yea actually… it was really good to see her."

"I'm glad to hear that, kid. Sorry I acted like it wasn't important earlier. I was just really worried about the Unsub and when I get worked up I don't always think before speaking," Derek explained.

Spencer scoffed.

"You think I haven't picked up on that?" he asked, a teasing tone to his voice.

Derek couldn't help but laugh as well. Things were really relaxed with Spencer. Even knowing he still had to work through his conflicted emotions concerning the boy, Derek didn't feel uncomfortable around him. In fact, he had been tense all day thinking about Spencer being out of his sight and not knowing what was happening to the boy. Now that he could see him, Derek felt the tension leaving his body at the knowledge that Spencer was safe and sound.

The two then proceeded to heap their plates full of the pungent-smelling food. Spencer inhaled deeply and felt his mouth-watering. He was suddenly extremely happy that Derek was there. Picking up a fork, he began stuffing the savory food into his mouth.

Derek smiled to himself as he saw how happy the kid was. Chuckling, Derek cracked open a bottle of water and placed it in front of Spencer.

"Make sure you don't choke," Derek said, trying to keep a straight face.

Spencer rolled his eyes at him, but with cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk it was hard to take him seriously.

Swallowing pointedly, Spencer turned to Derek.

"How's the case going?" Spencer asked.

Derek sighed a bit as he sat back, stretching his arms over his head and cracking the joints in his neck. Spencer watched on, finding himself somewhat mesmerized as the man's powerful arm muscles undulated under his tight shirt. He knew the agent was probably very tired, especially since every night since he had known him he had called the man way past waking hours. So Spencer suddenly felt very guilty to be thinking about the man's physique instead of thinking, sympathetically, about how much of a toll the case must be taking on him. Turning away from the man and ducking his head, Spencer tried to occupy himself with shoveling food into his mouth.

"I think, for once, things are actually progressing somewhat smoothly," Derek told him. "Our analyst was able to find some things out about the types of victims this guy tends to pick and this information will be really useful to our profile."

"Information like what?" Spencer asked, curiously, now that he had had a moment to gather his bearings.

Derek grimaced slightly.

"Well… we don't share our profiles with the general public until it's complete, and unless we think it will be useful in helping them to protect themselves. I know you're more involved in this case than a random person on the street, but the Unsub's not targeting you the way he's been targeting those men he killed. We're actually working on a separate profile to explain why he's been so fixated on you, but so far we don't have enough information. But as soon as we know more about him, and anything that will help us keep you safe, I'll be sure to tell you," Derek offered with a small smile.

Spencer nodded his understanding. Of course he was curious and felt slightly put out that Derek was keeping information from him, but he also appreciated the man's upfront honesty. He believed the agent when he said he would let Spencer know as soon as they had something.

"And Hotch decided how he's going to divvy up the watch assignments on you." Derek continued, perking up a bit. "Hotch and Rossi are our more senior agents, so they have to maintain a constant presence at the station. So, it'll be between me, J.J. and Emily, but I'll probably be taking most of those shifts. "

Spencer tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at that. He wanted to ask the agent why exactly _he_ would be taking more of the shifts, but Derek just continued on, apparently needing to get something else out.

"And… oh yeah… I'll be staying the night." Derek said as he watched the boy carefully. He wondered if he should have thrown in an 'If that's alright with you,' but didn't quite see the point. Even if Spencer had protested, there was no way he would be convincing Derek to leave the apartment that night.

Spencer blinked in surprise at the agent's statement.

"Um… what? _Here_? I don't really have any…" Spencer trailed off as he motioned around the small room.

"That's ok, kid. I'm quite used to sleeping on couches." Derek explained.

"This is a small and very uncomfortable couch, Agent Morgan. I'd feel bad if you had to sleep on this." Spencer said sheepishly. "I… I can take the couch."

Derek chuckled, mood immediately lifted by the fact that the kid hadn't flipped out on him at the suggestion of him staying over. Instead, he seemed more concerned for the agent's comfort.

"Kid, I wouldn't hear it! Besides, I would catch hell from J.J. and Emily if they knew I let you take the couch. They're like mother hens," Derek said with an eye roll.

Spencer returned a genuine and wide smile. And Derek felt his heart throb unexpectedly. He was almost floored by how beautiful Spencer looked, smiling so openly like that. Seeing him with his guard down was so rare and Derek suddenly, and selfishly, hoped that Spencer didn't share this side of him with many other people.

"I… I really like them." Spencer said with a smaller smile.

He then glanced at Derek and his cheeks reddened slightly.

"And… you're not so bad either, Agent Morgan," he admitted bashfully, as he played around with the food on his plate.

Derek blinked in surprise. He wasn't expecting _that_. And it made his heart throb in his chest again—something it had been doing often that night.

"You…don't have to keep calling me that, you know?" Derek said, before he could stop himself.

Spencer looked up at him, his fork pausing on its ascent to his mouth.

"Calling you what?" Spencer asked.

"Um… Agent…?" Derek said, now wishing he hadn't started this conversation.

"Oh." Spencer said as he brought the fork down to his plate and proceeded to chew on his bottom lip.

_Now he's nervous_, Derek thought to himself as he watched the boy play with his lip. He could now read Spencer's many tells like he had known the boy for years. And the lip-biting was his most obvious one.

"So… what should I call you then?" Spencer asked, tilting his head to the side quizzically.

"Uh… Morgan… or, no… I guess that's what my colleagues call me. Um… Derek… Derek is fine," Derek stuttered out, unsure of why he was becoming so nervous.

"Oh." Spencer said again, blinking slowly.

But then he smiled.

"Ok… D-Derek it is then," he said, the smile becoming larger.

Derek felt his shoulders relax and he returned the boy's smile.

Talking to Derek, Spencer found himself smiling more often than he had in a long time. Just like spending time with his mother had relaxed him, Spencer felt himself relaxing in a different way. He felt comfortable with the agent, not on edge or suspicious like he spent most of his day when he interacted with others. Talking with Agent Morgan—no, _Derek _(Spencer thought with a smile) came easily. He even found himself teasing the agent, and surprisingly the agent playfully teased back. It was as if Derek actually _liked_ him…liked him just for him.

But, Spencer still felt hesitant. He knew he hadn't told Derek everything about him. He honestly didn't know what the agent already knew or what he thought of him. Spencer felt it was wrong to allow Derek to help him unless he knew the truth about him. While Spencer felt uncomfortable just thinking about it, and knew it would be even harder to _talk_ about, he also subconsciously knew that he didn't have anything to feel ashamed about—none of what had happened to him had been his fault. But that didn't stop the anxious clenching of his stomach at the thought of what _Derek_ would think.

_Would he think I'm disgusting… dirty?_ Spencer thought, sadly.

But Spencer knew that if he took control of the story—if he told it from his point of view—at least Derek would have heard the truth from him and wouldn't have to speculate.

As Derek sipped on his bottle of water, he observed the boy next to him. He had noticed that Spencer had grown strangely quiet after their pleasant exchange. His smile had slowly faded. He had stopped eating and was staring off in front of him, brows lowered in concentration and pink lips pressed into a grim line. He was obviously thinking about something that distressed him. All signs of the jovial and teasing banter they had been exchanging only moments before were gone.

"I…I don't fuck those men," Spencer suddenly blurted out.

Derek choked on the drink he was swallowing and turned slightly to stare at Spencer with an eyebrow raised in confusion.

"What?" he asked, in shock. He wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

Spencer blushed as he looked down at his lap and started to play with the hem of his shirt.

"I-I was just saying that I don't fuck them…if you thought that's what I did at the club…" he mumbled.

"Spencer, it's none of my business what you do, man. You don't owe me any kind of explanations…" Derek said as he set his drink down and turned fully to the reticent-looking youth. "But what brought that up all of a sudden?"

Spencer sighed, but still refused to meet Derek's eyes.

"Well, I just figured you were wondering. I mean… you haven't really asked… and I don't want you to think I… I do stuff like that," Spencer said, a bit inarticulately.

"I-it's important…" he mumbled after a moment.

Derek felt his heart clench at the sight of Spencer's discomfort. He wondered why Spencer thought his opinion was so important. But he also wondered why Spencer assumed he had a _bad_ opinion of him. His opinion was far from that. In fact, as indicated by his dream, Derek didn't feel any disgust toward Spencer at all. He _lusted_ after him. Derek didn't think there was anything dirty about Spencer. And he needed Spencer to know that. He wanted him to know that he wouldn't judge him for any of the decisions he had made. It was painfully apparent to Derek, just looking at the boy's tense shoulders, that he desperately wanted to feel accepted.

"So…you don't sleep with the guys from the club. That's a good thing, isn't it? I'm sure that's probably for the best anyway. You have to keep business separate," Derek said, trying to show Spencer he understood.

Spencer looked up at him with a furrowed brow (a look that Derek was quickly becoming fond of), confusion on his face.

"I don't sleep with men, at all," Spencer said flatly, like it was common sense.

Derek's eyes widened.

"Oh," the older man said, dumbly. "Really?"

Spencer cringed and felt his face burning up. He didn't know why it bothered him that Derek just assumed he was some whore that'd sleep with any guy who asked. At least that's what the agent's surprise sounded like to him…

"I don't like men, Derek," Spencer said with a frown.

But then after a pause, he said, "At least I don't think I do. I dunno... I haven't really thought that much about stuff like that... I just...after all I've seen, I don't think I'd like it. But, thankfully I didn't have to do that to get where I am now. "

Derek was silent as he digested that information. Was Spencer really telling him he'd _never_ slept with a man before? He found that hard to believe, especially knowing the seedy tastes the club catered to. But, for some reason, the thought that Spencer had been able to avoid selling himself in that way relieved Derek. It allowed him to think that maybe Spencer had been spared some of life's more traumatic experiences.

Seeing that Derek was silent, and taking it as a signal that the older man didn't truly believe him, Spencer floundered to justify himself.

"I don't do this because I l-like it, you know! I want you to understand that." Spencer said, turning wide-eyes on the mocha-skinned agent.

"Kid…I never thought you did," Derek said carefully. "But, I also don't want you to feel ashamed of where you ended up."

"I… I didn't want to end up here," Spencer said softly, face contorting as if he were in pain.

"I know that kid…" Derek said just as softly, unsure if his voice would break the damn holding back Spencer's emotions.

"I… I dropped out of school because my mom got really sick. My dad left us when I was 10, and for years it was just me taking care of her. Then when I went off to school, I…I couldn't be there for her and she…she got sicker and sicker. She really couldn't be trusted to take her medicine and she would have these episodes. She stopped going to work. And then when she _wasn't_ having an episode, she made me feel really guilty about being away from her. I started to feel like I was abandoning her… just like my dad had done to us. So… I just couldn't take it anymore. I didn't like her being all alone and I… I really wanted to help take care of her… to make sure she was ok. So I dropped out and moved home…

"But… even though I had been seen as a genius all throughout my life and at school I had a rude awakening when I returned home. I was 15 and wasn't old enough to do most jobs. No one cared that I was really 'smart.' Legally, there were only a few types of places that could hire me. I couldn't do just one job and make enough money to pay the mortgage and utilities, feed us, and take care of other expenses. Not to mention my mother had to take a leave of absence from the University she was teaching at. So I worked twelve-hour days split between the supermarket, the library, and a bookstore.

"E-everything was really hard. I had never worked that hard in my life, and even with all that, it was almost impossible to make ends meet. We were piling up debt left and right and I was always terrified someone would notice and come t-take me away from my mom…" Spencer said, choking back a sob.

Derek's brow furrowed in concern, dismayed at what Spencer had to go through at such a young age. No one deserved something like that. He thought about how alone and how scared Spencer must have been.

"What…what about your father?" Derek asked carefully.

Spencer looked up at him, a glare apparent on his face, but it did little to distract from how shiny his caramel eyes were.

"I wanted nothing to do with him!" Spencer snapped.

"He abandoned us. He sent money for the first couple of months, but then it was just on birthdays and Christmas…and then nothing at all. I wasn't going to tell him we were struggling. He never cared about us before, why would he suddenly start caring just because things were hard? We were nothing to him…" Spencer said, trailing off.

Derek grimaced at having brought up such a bad memory and he knew he had touched on a subject that was obviously a sore spot with the kid.

"So… so what did you do?" Derek asked, almost afraid to voice the question. But he knew Spencer wanted to tell him. That was what this was all about. Spencer wanted to bare his soul. He wanted to lay bare his darkest secrets and know that Derek wouldn't push him away just because he saw Spencer for what he truly was.

Spencer looked up at him, those impossibly-large eyes glistening slightly with unshed tears as he opened and closed his mouth, as if unsure of where to start.

"It's ok, Spencer. You can tell me as much as you want… you don't owe me anything, you know? I'm just here to listen. Just… whatever you're comfortable with," Derek said as he laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, hoping to comfort him.

Spencer sighed deeply, feeling anxiety settling into his stomach. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully, and glanced down at his hands, folded in his lap. He couldn't look Derek in the eye. This seemed a lot harder than he thought it would. He suddenly felt trapped—like he couldn't get enough air.

Could he tell him? Did he even want to…? Did he want to bring back those memories, or worse, give voice to them? Wouldn't that make it real?

He thought back to the worst day of his life…

_(xxx)_

_Four Years Ago_

"Hey, Pretty Boy!" someone shouted on the busy street.

Ignoring the loud sounds around him as people rushed and bustled past him, Spencer continued to shuffle his way home, head down, backpack slung across his shoulder.

He was hurrying home, even though it was a Friday night. He had just left his job at the supermarket and he was exhausted. It was his second shift of the night, after he had finished up working at the library, and he had been on his feet for more than 12 hours that day. Although most fifteen-year-olds would probably be thinking about hanging out with their friends on a Friday night, all Spencer could think about was getting home to his mother.

Although Spencer did have a few friends at the supermarket (for once, he was actually around other kids his age), and they had begged and prodded him to go see a movie with them that night, his regret had been sincere when he declined. There had definitely been a second of longing where he had really wanted to accept—to go out and have fun for once, and to act like a normal kid. But then he remembered himself and realized that if he didn't go home, who would be there to make sure his mother remembered to eat her dinner? Shaking his head to clear it of these thoughts, he pulled his jacket a bit tighter around his shoulders and increased his pace.

"Pretty boy!" the voice was yelling again, closer now, accompanied by soft pants, like the person was out of breath. When a hand clamped down on his shoulder, Spencer almost jumped out of his skin. He whipped around to stare up into the grinning face of a tall stranger.

"Hey, kid! Hey! Relax! Don't look at me like I'm trying to kidnap you here," the man said with a good-natured smile and Spencer felt like he could relax a bit.

"D-did you need something?" the boy asked, eyes dropping down to his feet.

"Well… yea, didn't you hear me calling you? I said 'Pretty Boy' like six times! I had to run to catch up with you," the man said, smiling again and Spencer couldn't help but think he had a really attractive smile. He then flushed when his brain finally comprehended what the man had been saying.

"P-pretty boy? _Me_?" Spencer asked, eyes wide behind the large frames of his glasses.

"Yeah, you, cutie," the man said as he winked at Spencer, causing Spencer's face to flame up and his heart to leap up into his throat. He had no idea what this man was talking about.

"Don't tell me no one's ever called you that before! You're so cute, you could be a model." The man continued, noticing that the boy's face had gone red and, it seemed, he was unable to form words.

"No way," Spencer finally said, thinking the guy was just making fun of him now.

"No, really. That's why I stopped you. I'm actually a talent scout. Here's my card," he said as he handed Spencer a slick, glossy white card.

Spencer took the card and glanced down at it. It read: _Danny Wallace, Talent Scout, Xquisite, Inc._ Spencer furrowed his brow. _Well, I guess it seems legit_, he thought to himself. But he still couldn't understand the connection. Why did this man stop _him_?

"I think you're just the kind of 'talent' we're looking for. That's why I stopped you," Danny said, as if he were reading Spencer's mind. Spencer blanched.

"I… I don't understand…" Spencer began but Danny cut him off.

"And, if you just come back to our offices, I can talk to you about some of the projects we have in mind for you." Danny continued. Before Spencer could turn the man down (he was sure the man would rethink his appraisal of him once he got him in front of real lights and realized he had made a glaring error in thinking the boy was 'cute'), Danny said something that got his attention immediately.

"And we pay really well. You could make upwards of $2000 in just one shoot."

Spencer's eyes widened. _Two-THOUSAND dollars? _He thought to himself. That was probably more than he made in a _month_ doing his _three _part-time jobs.

Spencer had a strange feeling in his stomach, but he couldn't pass up an opportunity to at least _hear_ about what this venture might mean. If he did something like this, all his troubles could be taken care of just like that.

"Um… um, I guess I could go to your office to t-talk about it?" he asked sheepishly, and he was rewarded with a wolfish grin.

"Great to hear, cutie," Danny said as he wrapped a firm arm around Spencer's shoulder. "Our offices are only a couple blocks away."

(())()()()()())

When Spencer was led into the building, he couldn't help but think that the place wasn't what he had been expecting. The building had been a bit shabby from the outside, but the placard on the front had said "Xquisite Inc.," so he pushed down his reservations. Inside, the hallways were dimly-lit by track-lighting, and as Danny led him past a number of closed doors that Spencer assumed led to offices, he glanced curiously at the framed posters on the wall. Many of the posters featured voluptuous-looking women in provocative outfits. Not having seen many things like that up close, Spencer shyly averted his eyes. But it was Vegas, and he knew that many showgirls dressed like that as part of their acts, so he disregarded them and kept his eyes trained in front of him.

He felt Danny squeeze his shoulder as they came to a stop in front of one of the doors at the end of the hallway. Danny then knocked lightly on the door and a deep voice from within called "Come!"

Pushing open the door, Danny ushered Spencer into a large office. It was lavishly, albeit a bit garishly, adorned. Sitting directly across from the door was a large, overweight man giving them a stern look. He had dark, greasy black hair and sported a number of rings on his thick fingers. He looked to be in his mid-to-late 40's and was wearing a flashy suit. Spencer swallowed nervously.

"Hey, Demetri, I just found this cute kid walking around downtown. I told him we could really use someone like him in some of our new projects." Danny said as he patted Spencer on the shoulder.

Demetri stared at Spencer, eyes slowly roving up and down the young boy's form. It made Spencer's skin crawl, and he felt himself subconsciously drawing closer to Danny. The man then smiled widely.

"Yes, yes. He's very cute indeed. I like what I'm seeing," Demetri said, grinning at the boy in front of him. "I think he'd be great on camera."

"Great to hear," Danny said with a laugh, "Well I'll leave you to it then."

Spencer turned around in shock as he heard Danny open the door.

"W-wait! Where're you going?" Spencer asked.

"Well, you have to interview to get a job, right? I can't be here for that. I'm sure you'll do great, kid." Danny said with a wink.

Then he was gone. And Spencer was left all alone with 'Demetri.'

Swallowing nervously, Spencer looked everywhere but at the imposing man sitting in front of him.

"Take a seat," the man said firmly, and Spencer jumped. Not knowing what else to do, the boy inched slowly to one of the two plush armchairs situated in front of the mammoth desk and slid into the seat.

"You're really, cute," Demetri purred again.

Although he hadn't felt flattered by the man's words, Spencer just forced a slight smile and continued to stare at his hands.

"What's your name, kid?" Demetri asked after a pause.

"S-Spencer," he breathed out.

"And… how old are you, _Spencer_?" Demetri asked, eyes getting a little bit darker.

"Um… I'm 15," Spencer responded.

"Hmm… 15? Wow. You look even younger than that. I guess it's the glasses… and the hair. You don't look like regular teens, you know?" Demetri said.

"Uh… sorry?" Spencer said sheepishly.

"No, no. Don't apologize. I like you like that. You look very innocent," Demetri said.

Spencer noticed a hard edge to the man's voice and looked up. He felt his stomach twist into a knot at the way Demetri was looking at him. Something just felt… off.

"Are you _innocent_, Spencer?" Demetri asked as he trained his dark eyes on the boy's light brown ones.

Spencer furrowed his brow in confusion.

"I… um… I don't really know what you mean…" Spencer stuttered out.

Demetri rose to his feet and Spencer immediately felt intimidated by the man's height. His wide eyes watched the older man stalk toward him, making him feel like a caged animal.

"I think you'd be very good in my pictures, Spencer… even in movies," Demetri said, looming over the boy.

Spencer bit his lip as he looked up at the man. He was starting to feel like he had really made a big mistake. He was scared… he didn't want to be there anymore.

"Do you know what kind of pictures we shoot here, Spencer?" Demetri continued.

Spencer shook his head.

"The kind where you take your clothes off…. Where you let everyone see how sexy you can be. I think you'd be really good doing something like that, Spencer," the man said as he stood right over the boy.

Spencer's eyes widened in horror.

_Take my clothes off!?_ He thought, feeling his stomach twist into knots.

"I… I don't… I think I need to-" he whimpered out as he tried to get to his feet, but Demetri placed a large hand on his shoulder and forced him back into his seat.

"Yes… you'll do very well. I like that look in your eyes, Spencer. I like those lips, too. You've got _very _nice lips. But before I can give you any work, you need to show me what you can do. It's my payment for getting you into the 'business.'" Demetri said, as he squeezed Spencer's shoulder causing the boy to gasp in pain.

"I… I don't want to do that. I'm sorry… Please, I want to go home!" Spencer said as he struggled against the strong man holding him in place.

"Go home? Spencer, don't be a tease," the man growled with a mean grin as he used his free hand to begin unbuckling his belt.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Spencer squeaked out, feeling panic setting in.

"Get on your knees, boy," Demetri demanded.

"No!" Spencer shouted as he pushed against Demetri with all his might and managed to get to his feet. But before Spencer could get around the man, he felt a fist collide with his face. Stunned, he staggered and tumbled to the floor. He could taste blood in his mouth. Before he could regain his bearings, Demetri's hand fisted into his hair and yanked his head back, hard.

"Open your mouth, boy," Demetri demanded, breathing hard.

"P-please let me go," Spencer sobbed.

But his pleas fell on deaf ears, as Demetri dragged him to his knees and positioned the boy's head in front of his lap. Trembling in fear, Spencer refused to open his eyes, and tried to pull away from the strong grip. But Demetri grabbed Spencer's jaw, pressing into the quickly forming bruise, and causing Spencer to cry out in pain.

Spencer then felt the man's thick, salty appendage being shoved past his lips and into his throat. He tried to pull away, gagging at the taste and feel, but Demetri's painful grip on his hair prevented his movement. He couldn't breathe as the man began to thrust into his mouth, indifferent to his struggles and muffled protests. He scratched and pushed against the man's legs to free himself, but it was of no use.

Hot tears ran down his face as his mouth and throat were abused by the sweaty panting man towering over him. His stomach churned in protest as he could taste more and more salty fluid flowing into his mouth. Then Demetri grabbed his head with both hands, gripping him tightly as he picked up his pace, thrusting violently. Spencer's whimpers of protest fell on deaf ears, and he feared he would choke to death in this dingy office. Suddenly, however, Demetri let out a shout and Spencer's mouth was flooded with copious amounts of thick liquid.

Spent, Demetri pulled back, releasing Spencer, who immediately proceeded to vomit on the floor. Coughing and sputtering, the boy wiped at his mouth with shaking hands. Staring, unseeing, at the floor with wide eyes, he trembled. He couldn't believe what had just happened.

"Shit, the sound of you retching really killed the mood, kid," Demetri's voice came from above him, as he began to re-buckle his belt. "I really would have wanted to test that ass of yours out, but I guess there's always next time."

Spencer couldn't help it as he let out a shaky sob. He didn't want to start crying again. He just wanted to get out of there as fast as he could. But he couldn't get his legs to work. It was like he was frozen in place.

"But… I liked that mouth of yours. Sure, you could use some practice. But I kind of like that clumsiness of yours. Very sexy." Demetri said, almost in a sing-song voice, as he made his way behind his desk.

Spencer listened as he heard the man rustling around in his drawer and then flinched as something was tossed down by his hands.

"That's your payment, kid. $500 for a job well done. I think you'll definitely go far here. And if you come back and let me take a crack at that ass, I'll really make it worth your while." Demetri said, the leer apparent in his voice.

Spencer stared in shock at the wad of money sitting in front of him. He was appalled that that man (_beast_ was probably a more fitting word) thought he could _pay_ for what he had just subjected him to. It had been disgusting and demeaning. But… $500… he couldn't just leave the money there, knowing how far it would go to supplement his already scarce finances. And, in any case, he thought to himself, after what had been done to him… didn't he deserve it?

With trembling hands, he reached out and closed his hand around the wad of cash, trying to tamp down his shame.

"Hmm… seeing you like that on your hands and knees… it's making me hot again," Demetri purred from his place behind the desk.

A jolt of fear shot through Spencer, and he scrambled to his feet. Face flushed, he quickly rushed to the door, avoiding looking Demetri in the eye. As his hand fell on the doorknob the man's voice echoed from behind him.

"Wait, Spencer," Demetri said.

Spencer didn't really know why he stopped. He didn't think Demetri could make it across the desk and to the door before he could leave, but he was still terrified nonetheless. His face throbbed from the punch he had received, not to mention the soreness in his mouth and throat from the man's rough assault. He was afraid Demetri would hurt him again if he didn't listen.

"Aren't you going to say thank you?" Demetri asked, voice almost a purr.

Flinching at the man's words, but afraid to displease him, Spencer quickly swallowed down his disgust.

"Th-thank you," he murmured softly, fighting back the tears he could feel burning behind his eyes.

Without waiting another second, he swung the door open and rushed out into the hallway. Hearing the door slam behind him, he looked up and was surprised to see Danny leaning against the wall in the hallway. Spencer's honey-colored eyes widened in shock.

_He was here the whole time and he… he did __**nothing**__? _Spencer thought to himself.

Danny gave Spencer a forced smile.

"So, I'm guessing everything went alright? Demetri liked you, didn't he? Now you can start doing some photos and making the big cash. Sounds good, doesn't it?" he asked as he reached out to touch Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer recoiled before the man could touch him.

Without waiting to hear anything more that Danny had to say, Spencer pushed past the man and ran out of the building.

(())()()()()())

It was late when Spencer finally made it into his house. All the lights were out. Spencer knew his mother had already gone to sleep.

_She probably didn't even know I was missing_, he thought to himself, feeling his chest squeeze painfully.

But he was also slightly thankful for this. He had no idea what he looked like and would have been ashamed for his mother to have seen him this way. He also knew that, if she was having one of her good days, she would be able to tell something was wrong immediately. And there was no way he wanted to tell her what had happened. He didn't want _anyone_ to know. Ever.

Making his way silently up the stairs, Spencer quickly ran into the bathroom and started the shower. As he waited for the water to heat up (as hot as it could get) he made a pointed effort to avoid looking in the mirror. As he stripped off his clothes and dropped them to the floor, he saw the thick wad of cash fall out of his pants pocket. Hesitating for a moment before picking it up, Spencer tried to ignore the thoughts flooding his head.

On one hand, he wanted absolutely no reminders about what had happened to him. If he could have his way he would never think of this day ever again. It would just disappear, like a bad dream. On the other hand… this was a lot of money. And if he could… if he could just be more careful next time, doing things like 'that' might be a useful way to make money when he was in a pinch. Not using his _mouth, _though. He would never want to do that again. But they had talked about pictures. Spencer was sure he could take pictures… It was just getting too hard to juggle all those jobs, especially since it meant he would be spending most of the day away from his mother. Something had to give…

Taking a seat on the closed toilet as steam started to fill the room, Spencer stared down at the money he gripped in his hand.

_If I do this again… it's going to be on my terms_, he thought to himself. _No one's going to get me alone like that again... no one's going to hurt me. I won't let them…_

Tossing the wad on to the counter top, Spencer got to his feet and yanked back the shower curtain.

Stepping in, and bracing himself against the scalding water, Spencer began to wash, hoping he could wash all the memories away.

(xxx)

Staring off silently, Spencer was brought back to the present by the feeling of Derek's hands on his shoulders, shaking him.

"Kid, you ok?" Derek asked.

When Spencer's eyes focused, he took in the sight of Derek's concerned dark-brown eyes staring into his own.

"Um… what?" Spencer asked, as he blinked a few times.

"You started telling me about the jobs you were working and your dad and then… well, kid, you just kind of zoned out…" Derek said, frowning.

Derek knew the signs clearly. Spencer had been having a flashback. And by the way the boy's shoulders had tensed and his eyes had glazed over, he was sure that whatever the kid had been seeing wasn't anything pleasant.

Spencer sighed heavily, mind wandering back to those painful memories. He didn't think Derek needed to know _everything_. He wanted Derek to understand him, not pity him. And the person he had been four years ago was a weak, naïve little boy. Now, Spencer was an adult. He knew better and he had grown up a lot over the past four years.

Looking up at the concerned agent, Spencer steeled himself, determined not to let his emotions show.

"When I was younger… I was tricked by this talent scout. I stupidly followed him to this studio… and I got forced to blow the manager there. He gave me money afterwards and told me I could work for him… take pictures and stuff. I never went back to him, because I couldn't trust him…. He was a disgusting asshole. But being able to make so much money so quickly was something I had never heard of. And… I needed money really badly then. So… I found other people who did that kind of thing and I did some pictures and some solo videos when money got really tight." Spencer said flatly.

Derek stared at the boy with wide eyes. Spencer had told that story with such a lack of emotion. He couldn't believe that the boy was so unaffected. It was an act. Derek knew… it brought back painful memories, but Derek _knew_ what it was like to be forced…

"Spencer, did any of these other people do anything to you?" Derek asked, voice hard.

"Um… I tried really hard to never be alone with the guys who were doing the shoots. But... sometimes it was unavoidable and when things got too… scary… well, I tried to get out of it by talking. And if they didn't want to talk… um… then I'd offer to… you know, use my mouth." Spencer said, face flushed in embarrassment.

"But that was only a few times, and really…it's no big deal. At least no one ever fucked me," Spencer said dismissively, but there was an obviously hard edge to his voice.

"How…young are we talking about here?" Derek asked, the furrow in his brow clearly giving away his displeasure with the things Spencer had just disclosed.

Spencer rolled his eyes as he pushed himself to his feet and sighed, but it was obvious he was avoiding meeting Derek's eyes. He knew exactly what was concerning Derek. Business as usual.

"Please. There's no point in lingering on that, Mr. Law Enforcement." Spencer said derisively, as he began to pace the living room.

Derek watched the boy carefully, sure that he was unaware he was giving away such telling signs of anxiety in his body language.

"And it's not like I'm going to give you any names, anyway. I was young… too young for that kind of shit, but who _cares? _It's part of the territory…. Kind of like initiation." Spencer continued with a shrug.

_And now he's pretending like it doesn't matter_, Derek observed to himself.

"Anyway… it's like I said, no one raped me. So whatever," Spencer said as he threw up his hands in frustration, and, turning away from Derek, stormed into the kitchen. He couldn't look at him anymore. The agent had been silent for so long during his rambling tirade that Spencer wasn't sure what he was thinking. He regretted saying anything and now he just wished they could change the subject.

"It's **not** whatever, Spencer!" Derek growled as he got to his feet and stormed after the boy into the kitchen. "How _old_ were you when these bastards did these things to you?"

Spencer flinched at Derek's tone, and even though he tried to put on a smile his lip trembled a bit. "Jeeze, I was… like 15, I think. I dunno, it was a long time ago." Spencer said as he backed up into a corner of the kitchen. With Derek's large body and scowling face, the kitchen suddenly seemed a lot smaller.

"That was _only_ four years ago, Spencer. Jesus Christ! You're a victim! You can still report those sons of bitches." Derek informed him, anger still tinging his voice. He could see that Spencer felt intimidated, and looked like an animal backed into a corner, so he tried to reel in his anger, but it bothered him so much. _Why does this kid talk like he thinks he isn't worth anything_? Derek wondered. The thought, itself, was painful.

Still anxious in his cornered position, but attempting to assert himself as he leaned against the countertop, Spencer locked eyes with Derek.

"Like I told you, I'm not giving you any names. And you can't make me! That kind of thing is par for the course and I'm _over_ it. I'm _not_ a fucking victim. I wasn't raped; I just had to give some unpleasant blowjobs. But I'm not that stupid anymore. And no one can force me to do things like that ever again." Spencer said, his voice almost rising to a shout.

Derek was stunned for a second, wondering why Spencer was so defensive. How could he not think of himself as having been victimized? How could he think he had just been 'stupid,' Derek wondered to himself. And Derek knew that this mentality was keeping Spencer from blaming the real people responsible. _None_ of what had happened to him had been his fault.

All Derek could think of was why, if Spencer could still do something about those who had hurt him, wouldn't he take advantage of that chance? But, then Derek thought about himself… and _his_ personal demons. And all of this suddenly seemed too familiar. He had never shared with anyone what had happened to him when he was 14. Derek always told himself that saying something now wasn't worth the trouble. There was no way that man could be prosecuted for anything… so what was the point? And then suddenly, Derek was wondering to himself if he was using a double standard with Spencer. Was he only trying to force Spencer to confront his demons because Spencer was younger and Derek felt he knew more than the kid? Was it because he had _lived _more? Or was he somehow living vicariously through the boy, trying to vanquish his own demons because he knew he no longer could?

He was almost 29 now, and even with so many years having passed he still sometimes woke up at night covered in a cold sweat, heart in his throat, haunted by memories of a once-trusted man-turned-monster. He _still _hadn't dealt with it. And for Spencer, his demons were fresher. He had experienced this all merely four years ago. There was no way the boy had 'dealt' with it yet. And Derek knew that the little Spencer had shared with him was probably only the tip of a much larger iceberg. Spencer was 15 when he had first been assaulted and had made the decision to embark into the seedy world of the skin trade. There was nothing and no one to protect him. What had transpired between that point and now? What had he had to endure before he ended up at _Mon Petit Chien_, where he could dance behind the protective glass and out of the reach of the monsters who would torment him?

Spencer's sigh drew Derek out of his thoughts and he watched as the cornered boy ran a hand wearily over his face and through his hair. Spencer wouldn't look at him.

"If I had known you were going to be this way I never would've told you..." Spencer murmured softly, eyes trained on the floor.

Realizing he was pushing Spencer away, Derek let out a heavy sigh of his own. This was not the time for Derek to tackle his own demons; not the time to make Spencer face his either. Right now, Spencer was hurting and Derek needed to do what he could for the boy in this moment.

Moving in closer to the tense boy, so that there were scant inches between their bodies, Derek placed one hand on the back of Spencer's head, and the other on the boy's back and pulled him in close. At first Spencer tensed and tried to struggle but when it dawned on him that Derek had simply enveloped him in a hug, he relaxed, letting his arms drop limply to his sides.

Breathing softly into Derek's neck, Spencer let out a soft chuckle.

"For the muscle-bound alpha male type, you really are such a sap," Spencer teased, voice muffled by Derek's shoulder.

Derek laughed slightly as he softly ran his fingers through the younger man's hair.

"I don't think it's being a sap if you give someone a hug when you know they really need one."

Spencer let out an irritated-sounding huff, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he tentatively raised his arms and sunk his fingers into the fabric of Derek's shirt. Saying nothing, he just let himself be held.

"Kid…" Derek said after a few moments of silence. The feel of Spencer's slight body in his arms had begun to feel too comforting… too "right." He knew he had to regain control of the situation.

"I'm proud of you for telling me what you did. I know it wasn't easy. I also know there's a lot more you're probably keeping to yourself," Derek said, and felt the boy flinch almost instantly.

"But, you don't' have to tell me that—now, or ever." Derek said as he immediately began stroking Spencer's back, easing the tension with every sweep of his fingers.

"I just want you to know that if you ever want to… I'm here, ok? You can tell me anything." Derek offered.

Saying nothing, Spencer just nodded, and Derek resumed carding his fingers through the boy's silky hair.

"And I'm going to do my best to make sure no one hurts you again. Starting with this son of a bitch Unsub," Derek said as he gripped the boy a bit tighter.

Spencer pulled back a bit and looked up at the sincere agent. His caramel-colored eyes searched the older man's darker ones and he knew, without him saying anything, that Derek had made a promise to himself. That he really intended to do anything he could for Spencer. What he saw there was genuine devotion. And it was shocking.

Looking away, Spencer felt his heart hammering and his ears burning. He tried to convince himself not to read into that. Derek was devoted to solving the _case_—he was devoted to making sure Spencer didn't get killed, but it was unlikely that he had any interest in him outside of the purviews of his job and his commitment to right the wrongs in the world.

Stepping out of the agent's comforting arms, Spencer smiled up at him to assuage any of his concern.

"That's a tall order you have to fill, then," he said, forcing himself to laugh. "I'm sure you can't do it running on a couple of hours of sleep like you've been doing. Let me help you set up the couch."

Smiling at the boy, and understanding that it would take time for the boy to fully trust and rely on him, Derek nodded. They would have time.

* * *

><p>AN: Ah, so there we have it. Poor Spencer, huh? Well, things can always get better. Fingers crossed?

Let me know your thoughts; love to hear from you! xoxo


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds, nor am I am making any profit off of this work.

A/N: Thanks for all your reviews, favorites/subscriptions, and support! And thanks to Eskimita, my esteemed beta-reader!

I'm happy you came back for another chapter and I'm glad no one wants to string me up yet for all the bad things I keep doing to our poor Spencer. But, I intend to ease off the personal traumas in this chapter to give you guys a breather. When I wrote the first draft of this chapter it was **50 pages**! Ack! But after some serious consideration, I decided it would make more sense if I broke it up into parts. So this will be the first part of the day, and Chapter 8 will follow up with the evening.

Unfortunately there's no real Derek-Spencer 'romantic' contact in this chapter (ah! Don't hurt me!). But of course, that doesn't mean they won't be _thinking _about each other. I figure we're more honest in our heads than we are out loud most of the time, anyway ;p. This will be mostly a case & character development chapter but I did try to add a little humor, a little mystery & intrigue, and a little personal realization on Spencer's part. Hope you like it!

* * *

><p>Derek groaned groggily as he turned over, throwing an arm over his eyes in displeasure. He had been awoken by a combination of the persistent sunlight shining into his eyes and the fact that his neck and back were aching. Shifting slightly, and wincing as his lower back complained, Derek sighed and opened his eyes.<p>

_The kid wasn't playing when he said this couch was uncomfortable,_ he thought to himself. _Probably would've been better if I had slept on the floor…_

Although his night had been uncomfortable, Derek was just glad that his sleep had been dreamless. He wasn't sure how he would have coped if he had been plagued by yet another X-rated 'Spencer-featurette' when the boy was sleeping just a few feet away from him. Derek was already doing all that he could to keep that very embarrassing information from the boy, and with Spencer's sharp intellect Derek doubted he would believe another weak 'I'm going through some personal things' excuse from him. But, Derek would rather not spend his time dwelling on _that_ difficult issue at the present moment.

Sitting up, and rubbing at his cramped muscles with one hand, he fumbled around on the table to retrieve his cellphone. He had no idea what time it was, but he knew it couldn't be too late in the morning since his alarm hadn't gone off yet.

Closing his hand around the phone, and swiping the screen he saw that it was only 7:35. He also noticed that he had a few text messages from Emily.

_J.J. & I are headed over to switch with you now; should be there by 8. _

_Hotch wants you back at the station by 9, btw_

_Don't worry, we come bearing coffee & donuts ;p_

_Ask Spencer what time he's heading into work today _

Groaning, Derek tossed the phone back on the table. Not that the idea of coffee and donuts didn't sound great. He was just frustrated at himself for already feeling reluctant to leave Spencer. He knew there was no way he could do his job if he spent all his time with the boy. And he trusted J.J. and Emily in his absence. He just would feel better about it if _he_ was the one doing it.

Thinking back to last night, he was pleased by how things had turned out between him and Spencer. After the boy had wormed his way out of his embrace and made his way into the living room, he had busied himself with trying to get things tidied up. Derek had had to tell the boy to relax and that he wouldn't need very much to get comfortable for the night. But even with this attempt at placating, Spencer had seemed like a chicken with its head cut off. Well, a baby chick, that was. The kid had seemed somewhat nervous, as if he was using the pretense of tidying up as a way to expel his pent up energy. But Derek had chalked that up to Spencer's understandable discomfort with having shared such a big secret with someone like Derek, followed by what was probably an unexpected show of physical affection.

It had taken a bit of convincing, but Derek had talked Spencer into leaving the mess on the table and settling down with him on the couch. Derek had grabbed the remote and flicked on Spencer's old TV and when he landed on a bad sci-fi movie, Spencer had seemed to finally relax. Then the boy had become much more talkative, as he prattled off about ways in which the physics in the movie could have been made to appear more realistic. Two movies, and almost three hours later, Spencer had nodded off and Derek found himself shaking the boy awake. Groggy and disoriented, Spencer had trudged into his bedroom without putting up much of a fight. Derek was thankful for that. He wasn't sure he could deal with a hyperactive Spencer again, especially since it was approaching 11 pm. But, knowing that the boy would appreciate it, Derek made quick work of clearing away the empty takeout containers and tidying up the living room before he himself had settled in for the night.

Shaking his head to clear it of the surprisingly pleasant memories from the night before, Derek decided he should probably get Spencer up before Emily and J.J. arrived. He got to his feet and stretched, pleased to hear the satisfying cracking in his back and neck. He then made his way through the small apartment and paused outside of Spencer's door. Raising his hand, he lightly brought his knuckles down on the door two times. Hearing nothing, he frowned slightly to himself and his thoughts started to race. Was Spencer just a heavy sleeper or… had he pulled another disappearing act? Quickly tossing that idea out, Derek told himself that _he_ was a light sleeper and there was no way Spencer would have made it through the living room and out the door without him having woken up.

Sighing in frustration, Derek knocked on the door again, this time with more force. He heard slight shuffling from behind the door, but there was no response. Rolling his eyes, the agent knocked again.

"Spencer?" Derek called, making sure his voice would carry through the door. "Time to get up, kid! J.J. & Emily are on their way over, and you don't want them to find you still in bed, do you?"

Still receiving no verbal response, but hearing a bit more rustling coming from behind the door, Derek decided he had had enough.

"I'm coming in, kid, so you better be decent," Derek announced, as he turned the doorknob and pushed his way into the room.

Derek would be lying if he said he didn't find the scene in front of him somewhat adorable. Spencer was lying on his stomach, slightly propped up on his elbows, tangled amongst his sheets and blanket, hair sticking up in all directions as he blinked at Derek with squinting, tired eyes.

"What do you _want_?" Spencer groaned as he flopped back down on to the pillow and attempted to throw the covers back over his head.

"Hey, I'm trying to do you a favor," Derek said with a chuckle. "You're going to have a whole lot of company in a couple of minutes."

"…'s _really_ early," Spencer's muffled voice came from beneath the covers.

Derek pondered on that for a moment. Seven forty-five was considered too early? It wasn't like he was waking the kid up at _five_. On the other hand, Spencer _did_ work nights.

"Sorry about that," Derek said as he stepped further into the room. "But, like I said, I really doubt you want to still be sleeping when J.J. & Emily get here. You can go back to bed once they're all settled, but for right now, let's try to get up, huh?"

Another frustrated sigh sounded from beneath the covers, but then Spencer threw the sheets back and sat up, casting an angry glare in the agent's direction.

"Well, it's not like I can go back to sleep with you going on and on," Spencer said as he blindly felt around on his nightstand.

Catching on that the boy was looking for his glasses, Derek quickly stepped up to the bedside table and, finding the glasses, handed them over.

Spencer stared at the tall agent for a moment, as he closed his hand around the pair of glasses, but silently accepted them. Shifting his body so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, Spencer pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose and pushed his messy hair back from his face. Glancing down at himself, Spencer cleared his throat and gripped the sheets slightly, like he was considering pulling them back over himself.

"Um… well, I'm up now… so, you can go… I have to get dressed," Spencer mumbled.

Derek was surprised. It wasn't like Spencer had been sleeping in the nude. Far from it actually. The kid had been wearing an old, over-sized t-shirt that would slip down now and then showing a bit of his shoulder, and a pair of pajama pants. To Derek, Spencer seemed to be more self-conscious in casual clothes than he did in the club. But, who was he to argue?

"Yeah… no problem, kid. I just need to know what time you're heading to work today," Derek said with a small smile.

"Huh?" Spencer asked, still blinking tiredly. "Oh… Four… I go in for four today."

"Alright. I'll let the girls know. I'll be waiting out in the living room for you, ok?" Derek said trying to hold back his chuckle as he backed out of Spencer's room and closed the door behind him.

Derek walked back into the living room and began to get his things in order when he heard Spencer's bedroom door softly creak open, the sound of what seemed to be quickly-shuffling feet, and then a second later the sound of another door slamming shut. Before he could think of what Spencer was doing he heard the familiar sound of water running and chuckled to himself. The kid had literally _run_ from his bedroom to the bathroom, like he was trying to avoid Derek catching sight of him. _That's one strange kid_, Derek thought amusedly.

About fifteen minutes later, a knock sounded from the front door. As Derek got to his feet, his hand instinctually went to his waist to feel for the presence of his sidearm, and confirming that he was armed, he walked to the door. Glancing through the peephole he immediately recognized the blonde and brunette standing on the opposite side of the door, and quickly opened it.

"Hey, Morgan," Emily said with a smile as she leaned forward, holding her arms out.

Derek could see that both J.J. and Emily were hefting large file boxes. J.J. had a tray of four coffees balanced on top of her box and Emily had what looked to be a large white pastry box on top of hers. Surprised that they had juggled all those items up the stairs, Derek quickly relieved them of the boxes while the two women took charge of the food containers.

Walking in first, followed by J.J. and Derek, Emily glanced around.

"Where's Spencer?" she asked.

"Still in the shower. Kid's not really a morning person," Derek said with a light chuckle as he placed the boxes on the counter.

J.J. smiled at the thought.

"Not surprising though," she said, "his job basically requires him to be nocturnal."

Derek nodded in agreement.

"So, Hotch wants us to take over for you for most of the day while you help him and Rossi out at the station. We're expected to keep ourselves busy going through these boxes. It's a good portion of the California cases," J.J. explained as she tapped the top of one of the large boxes. Emily groaned her displeasure at their upcoming workload and began to unpack their breakfast and coffees.

"Did you get an idea of when Spencer needs to head into work?" Emily asked as she glanced up at Derek.

"Yeah, kid says he starts at four," Derek informed them.

"Ok, we figured it'd be something like that. Hotch says we can switch off again then. We'll keep you guys posted on anything that's going down over here, but I'm sure we'll have a pretty quiet morning," J.J. told him.

Derek nodded silently, absorbing that information. He hadn't known that Hotch would let him take over watching Spencer during his shift at the club. He was appreciative of that fact. Spencer could be in a lot more danger when he was out in public, especially in the same location where the Unsub had killed his last victim.

"So, how was your night?" J.J. asked, drawing him out of his thoughts.

"Any contact from the Unsub?" Emily chimed in.

"Nope, things were pretty quiet here, actually. I was expecting that creep to try something, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little disappointed that I couldn't give him a piece of my mind… or fist, to be more exact," Derek huffed out.

Emily rolled her eyes.

"Yes, yes, I know this Unsub's got all you alpha males in a tizzy. Hotch was more than just a little snippy this morning, as well," she quipped.

Derek rolled his eyes back at her.

"This has nothing to do with my pride," Derek defended himself, as he reached over for one of the coffees.

"If you say so," Emily said, her smile indicating that she didn't believe a word he was saying.

Before Derek could retort, the three agents heard the bathroom door creak open and instinctively turned their heads to stare down the hallway. They were all met with the sight of a flushed and dripping wet Spencer Reid, the light-blue towel wrapped around his waist the only thing concealing his pale body from their eyes.

Upon sight of them, Spencer's face contorted into an embarrassed grimace. He had obviously not expected his kitchen to be full of FBI agents.

"Uh…hi...g-good morning? I'm… gonna go…" Spencer squeaked out as he motioned towards his bedroom and turned on his heel, scurrying off down the hall.

J.J. and Emily laughed quietly to themselves, trying to keep their voices down lest the embarrassed teen hear them. Derek on the other hand caught himself still staring down the hallway after the boy. _That_ image hadn't been helpful to him.

Although it had only been a few brief seconds, his mind had already saved a mental image of the boy's wet, light brown hair, already slightly curling at the edges, his wide, surprised eyes and round mouth curved into an 'oh' of surprise. Not to mention that Derek's eyes had had enough time to follow a stray droplet of water as it curved down Spencer's pale neck, rolled over his prominent collarbone, and had slowly dripped down the boy's left pectoral muscle. His eyes had roved further down the smooth, but lightly muscled abdominals and traced the light, almost blonde hairs that trailed down below the boy's belly button and disappeared into the snug towel. He found himself wondering what it would be like to _lick_ the droplets of water off of Spencer's body…

_What is wrong with me_? Derek asked himself as he dragged his hands over his face, and focused his attention back on his amused colleagues, thankful that they hadn't caught him staring.

"Spencer's _adorable_," J.J. mused as she started preparing her coffee, "he gets so embarrassed so easily. It's hard to believe he strips for a living."

"I know. He is _really_ cute though. I don't even think he realizes it," Emily cooed.

Derek was silent as he listened to the two agents, aware of the fact that he was almost outright glaring at them. Noticing his silence, the two women glanced at him.

"Jeeze, Morgan, we get that you probably don't like the idea of us sitting here going on and on about eye candy, but you could try to look a little _less_ disgusted. Let the girls have some fun once in a while," Emily said as she shoved his shoulder.

Derek groaned in annoyance as he shook her hand off.

"I don't really care," he groused. "I just don't think it's super appropriate for women who are almost 10 years older than him to be talking about him like that. On top of being FBI Agents."

"Whoa, whoa," J.J. complained, blue eyes growing wide. "It's closer to _five_ years older in my case, and besides, it's not like we're being serious. We're not interested in him like _that_. I mean, come on, he's a teenager. It's not like we'd try to put the moves on him. Especially not if he's involved in a case."

"Yeah, you jerk. What's the big deal throwing ages around, anyway. I'm basically the same age as you. I've seen you going after girls who are _barely _in their 20's all the time. So don't start with the holier-than-though spiel right now," Emily said to him, her displeasure apparent.

Derek looked away from his offended colleagues guiltily, knowing that he had basically just projected his own insecurities on to them. And it hadn't helped hearing them voice the same reasons he knew to be true about why looking at Spencer Reid in any romantic light would be unwise. And 'unwise' would be putting it lightly. Stupid would probably be a better word. Thinking of Spencer as anything more than a witness in a case would be monumentally _stupid_.

Derek was saved from having to answer the piercing look of his friends when they heard the bedroom door open again. Spencer had saved him. However, in Derek's case, it was more like out of the frying pan and into the fire. Spencer's presence brought with it a whole slew of other problems.

Watching as the boy approached, Derek took in his appearance. Today it was baggy jeans and a long-sleeved dark plaid button-down. Spencer's hair still looked slightly damp, as if he had tried to dry it as best he could with a towel but it would still take a while. Derek found himself thinking of how much he liked Spencer's hair without the product he used to keep the unruly curls in place.

"Morning, guys," Spencer said shyly as he walked up next to Emily and J.J. "Sorry about… um… earlier."

"No problem," Emily said with a genuine smile. "It was definitely a nice early morning pick-me-up."

She then winked at him, causing Spencer to blush.

"Ugh, Emily," J.J said shaking her head and laughing.

"Do you want some coffee, Spencer?" J.J. offered as she picked up the last remaining cup in the holder.

The idea of coffee was apparently very agreeable to Spencer, as he nodded his head and happily reached out to relieve her of the cup.

"And help yourself to some breakfast too," she offered as she popped open the large, rectangular box, unveiling a dozen sweet pastries.

"Oh wow," Spencer said in delight as he leaned over to get a better look at the treats.

Derek found himself smiling at Spencer's endearing behavior. It was easy to forget all the turmoil rolling around in his head when Spencer was smiling. Suddenly, a sharp beeping drew everyone's attention and Derek reached down to his pocket, where the noise was coming from. It was his phone's alarm. It was 8:15.

"Oh man," Derek said as he glanced down at the screen. "I've gotta head out now if I'm going to be able to run back to the hotel, get cleaned up and be back at the precinct before Hotch loses it."

Nodding with sympathetic smiles, the other two agents agreed with him.

Derek pushed away from the counter and hurried into the living room, kneeling to the ground and hurriedly gathering his things. He could hear Spencer and the girls in the kitchen as they chatted and dug into the pastries. Derek was reluctant to leave, but he continued to tell himself that everything would be fine. The Unsub had never struck in the daylight so there was no reason to think that Spencer would be in any more danger than usual. Pushing himself to his feet, Derek affixed his watch to his wrist and checked his sidearm again.

"You better get out of here, Morgan," Emily said as she walked into the living room and tapped her own watch. Spencer and J.J. had followed behind her.

"I know, I know," Derek complained.

"Here," J.J said with a smile as she handed over Derek's untouched cup of coffee and one of the pastries wrapped in a napkin.

"Thanks," Derek said offering a small smile of his own.

The group walked over to the door and Derek hesitated for a second.

"You guys know that if you need anything, I'm just a phone call away, right?" he asked as he stood facing them, one hand on the door.

"Derek," J.J. said with an amused tone as she placed her hand on Spencer's shoulder, "we'll be _fine_! You don't have to worry about us. Right, Spencer?"

Spencer smiled at the serious-looking agent standing across from him.

"Yeah, we'll be fine," he said softly, feeling slightly touched by the agent's concern.

Nodding, but still feeling as if leaving was the last thing he should be doing, Derek forced a smile and made himself leave.

* * *

><p>It was a quarter past 9 when Derek rushed into the LVPD station. Making his way into the conference room that was currently on loan to his team, Derek gained the attention of Hotch, Rossi and Detective Ryan Stone. Hotch nodded at Derek, acknowledging the man's presence and flipped open a case file, ready to get to work.<p>

"We've asked Detective Stone to sit in with us and give us a bit more information on the last time the Unsub killed in Vegas," Hotch said, as Derek got situated.

Derek glanced over at the man in question. He hadn't had much of an opportunity to spend time with Stone, and this was the first time he had really observed him. Stone was a serious-looking man of average height and weight. His hair was completely slate-gray, even though his face seemed to show that he couldn't be any older than 40. Accompanying the gray hair were deep creases around the corners of his eyes. The hardened appearance was often the result of many years dedicated to law enforcement. Derek had seen that many times before.

"I'm more than a little worried that the Judgment Maker has reared his head in Vegas again," Stone said, somberly. "I've had my guys hitting the streets looking for any witnesses from the strip club, but everyone's got the same story: 'I didn't see nothin'.' It's like this guy's a damn ghost."

The other three men in the room nodded silently.

"He's very good at what he's doing," Rossi said. "He's had time to practice."

"But to kill someone in such a public place, it's impossible that no one saw him," Stone said, his frustration evident in his voice.

"We believe the Unsub must not have stood out," Hotch explained. "He's probably a very average-looking individual, and he's using this to his advantage. That, or he's a regular, and his presence at the club that night wouldn't have drawn attention."

"We have our technical analyst running checks on the membership list, so hopefully we'll have a better list of suspects soon," Rossi offered.

"You were able to get the club's membership list?" Stone asked, sounding impressed.

"We have a very skilled analyst," Hotch said, lip turned up slightly in a smile, voice laced with pride.

Stone whistled his appreciation. But then he frowned again.

"I heard from one of my boys that one of the people I interviewed at the club suddenly changed his story?" Stone asked as he looked at the agents.

Derek cringed a bit. They hadn't yet discussed how they wanted to disclose to the police that the club had purposefully tried to obstruct the investigation.

"There's a lot involved there, and at this point in time, I don't think it's prudent to try to pursue anything against those who may have initially withheld information," Hotch said, taking ownership for the decision. "Spencer Reid is a vital witness to our case. It's understandable that he was hesitant to come forward at first, especially seeing as he had witnessed a brutal murder."

"This Spencer Reid kid… the one we have the protective detail on? He _lied_ to the police. There's not much ambiguity there. How do we know he's not involved in this?" Stone asked, his rising hostility apparent.

"He's not involved," Derek said firmly. "If you see this kid, he's terrified. The Unsub has set his sights on him. And we don't know why. The only thing we know is that he's obsessed."

"That still doesn't have _me_ convinced," Stone said as he locked eyes with Derek. "This Reid character's a stripper in a seedy nightclub. The guy making contact could be some spurned lover of his. You know, an occupational hazard for some in that line of work. And I read the transcripts of his interview. All that promising to be a 'good boy' for him, shit? That phone conversation sounds personal to me. How much digging have you people really done into Reid's background? He could be in on this for all we know."

"He has a spotless record. Probably cleaner than any of us in this room. And if you had read the transcripts properly, you'd have also seen that this guy told Spencer he killed Victor LaRoux _for_ him. He already identified himself as the Unsub, not some past lover, and there's no reason to think he has a partner," Derek said, testily. "This man's become fixated on Spencer. And he's dangerous. Spencer didn't do _anything_ to encourage his attention."

"Oh, it's just _Spencer_, now, eh?" Stone asked with a raised eyebrow and a laugh.

Derek's face darkened at the man's tone.

"Look, we're doing our due diligence to investigate all leads in this case," Rossi said, before Derek could respond. "We appreciate all the insight and help LVPD has given us, but we also have to work with, and incorporate, the information gained from the killings in the other states. You know, the kills that make this a _federal_ case. Nothing that we've seen so far connects Spencer with the earlier kills. So, for right now, we can't go jumping to any quick conclusions."

Stone shot a glare in Rossi's direction, apparently not pleased at the man's attempt to pull rank.

The ringing of a phone cut through the thick silence in the room.

Hotch leaned back and checked his phone.

"It's Garcia," he announced, as he looked around the room. "Detective Stone, our technical analyst may have some updates on the case. I'd like you to listen in. We'd appreciate any input you could offer."

Hotch ignored the obvious eye-roll that came from Derek, and engaged the call.

"Hi there, boss-man," Garcia said cheerfully.

"Did you make any headway on the member list?" Hotch asked.

"Still crunching through it, sir. But I wanted to bring to your attention something strange I just found in VICAP," Garcia said.

"What is it?" Hotch asked.

"Ok, so I was searching through to see if there were any past cases that were similar to our killer's M.O., right? And I came across this case that kind of seems like it could be our guy, but it's missing some of the signature," Garcia told them.

"What is it, baby girl?" Derek asked as he sat up straighter, attention piqued.

"So, there was this murder about four years ago. The guy was named Demetri Santos. He ran some adult-film company. Apparently he was murdered after-hours at his office. The cops saw it as burglary gone wrong. The M.E. report that I found shows that there were signs of choking. But it wasn't manual strangulation, like our guy has been using. The report says Santos was likely strangled with a belt or something like that. But what really got my attention was that the body was found with a 10" serrated blade protruding from his forehead… And that's _definitely_ the same type of knife our guy likes to use," Garcia said.

"I remember that case… Demetri Santos was a scumbag porn-distributor, who was later discovered to be peddling in kiddy-porn on the side. His death was not one to be mourned," Stone said, a hard edge to his voice.

Hotch frowned.

"Were there any open cases or pending charges against him at the time he died?" he asked the man.

"Well… yeah, actually…sort of. A few kids came forward and made accusations against him. I think there were four of them, ranging from 14-16. They claimed they had been assaulted and coerced into performing in photo shoots and movies for the company. But when we investigated they either were unable to substantiate their claims or they recanted. We figured they were being paid off. And when we executed a warrant on Santos' office we couldn't find anything linking him to them. So we couldn't pursue it. Then, a few months later, he turned up dead," Stone explained, with a shrug.

"Paying people off to cover his crimes, hmm?" Rossi said. "That sounds like the type of thing that ticks off our Unsub."

"So, what about the fact that it doesn't fit the signature?" Stone asked.

"Well, this could have been an unplanned kill," Derek offered. "It's possible he didn't have his usual supplies and had to improvise."

"Yes, it seems too coincidental not to at least investigate it," Hotch said.

"Garcia, you mentioned that the police thought it was a burglary. Was anything taken?" Hotch asked, directing his comment to the waiting analyst.

"The cops think he took the security footage of the main door. The recorder was empty and the employees said that was abnormal. Other than that, nothing much seems to have been taken. He had some pretty valuable things in his office, including the jewelry he was wearing, and there was even an open laptop on his desk. But the killer left everything." Garcia informed them.

"We… had a hunch about what was on that computer," Stone spoke up.

The three agents turned to him.

"When they investigated the murder, they tore the place apart and came across a hidden back room with a number of DVDs locked in a safe. They seem to have been tapes of some type of…'audition.' They found about two dozen videos of different individuals performing sexual favors for Santos in his office. Apparently he was recording these people without their knowledge. 11 of the videos we found looked to have been of minors. All the videos were numbered, but one was missing—number 20. We never found it, no matter how much we looked. We… thought maybe Santos was watching this video when he was killed and the killer took it with him when he left." Stone explained.

Hotch raised an eyebrow.

"So… it begs the question, who was on that tape?" Hotch asked.

"We don't know. We weren't able to get much out of the employees. Of course everyone denied knowledge of Santos' dealings. No one wanted to be connected with _that_. And we were only able to track down a handful of the people on the tapes. Santos didn't exactly keep records. In any case, we're sure these videos aren't an exhaustive list of the people he's harmed," Stone explained.

Hotch sighed and shook his head. These were the times he felt torn about his job. He was here to hunt a serial killer, but his mind was currently absorbed with the fact that some cretin had been taking advantage of vulnerable individuals and they had never gotten justice. But he couldn't let his mind linger. There wasn't enough time in the world to save everyone.

"Is his company still in business?" Hotch asked, with a frown.

"Actually, yes. But under new management. I'm not sure who's running it now. But I think it may be one of the former employees," Stone responded.

"Garcia, get us that information," Hotch said briskly.

"And Morgan?" Hotch said as he turned to his subordinate. "I want you to get down there and interview the new owner. If they were a prior employee, they might be able to tell us something helpful."

"I just sent it to your mobile, hot chocolate," Garcia informed him.

"Thanks," Derek said as he got to his feet.

"Keep me posted."

* * *

><p>Emily and J.J. had spent the better part of the morning going through the large boxes of case files and bouncing ideas off of each other, while Spencer busied himself with cleaning his apartment. Spencer had seemed set on making sure they were comfortable, but the two women had told him to pretend like they weren't there and to go about his business as usual. So while they were not actively engaging each other, the atmosphere in the room was comfortable and friendly. Spencer found that he actually liked having them there, and listening absent-mindedly to the soft, lilting tones of their voices.<p>

They had come across a bit of a disagreement, however, when Spencer announced he needed to go down to the basement to do his laundry. Both agents had volunteered to accompany him, but seeing that they were knee-deep in case files Spencer had protested. Once he was able to convince them that the laundry was only one floor down and there was no way anyone could access the room from outside the building, they had reluctantly agreed to let him go, but had told him that if they didn't see him back in the apartment in under five minutes they would be forced to come looking for him.

The sound of the door creaking open caused both agents to look up as Spencer entered the apartment. Emily glanced down at her watch and noted with approval that he had only been gone for four minutes and twenty seconds. The two women looked on, amused, as the boy in question dragged what appeared to be his third load of laundry across the small apartment on his way toward his bedroom. Apparently he had been neglecting that duty for a while.

"Is that the last load?" Emily asked, a teasing lilt to her words.

Spencer stopped and blushed once he realized he had attracted their attention.

"Yeah…" he said. "I-I'm not a slob, or anything. I've just been really busy, plus the machines here are expensive, so I kind of put it off for a while."

"No problem, Spencer. You don't have to explain anything to us. Really, we're just hoping we're not getting in your way," J.J. said

"N-no," Spencer said, looking down at his hands with a small smile. "I don't really have people over all that often… so, it's actually kind of nice having you guys here."

J.J. and Emily looked at him with surprise but both returned his smile, genuinely.

"So, do you have any other errands to run? Anything we can help with?" Emily asked as she laid down the file she had been holding and stretched languidly.

"Ah… I should probably get some groceries? But I can just run out real quick… probably be back in about an hour?" Spencer said.

Emily laughed.

"Spencer, come on. You're not leaving here without us," she said.

"Yeah, we're a 'protective detail.' We're going to go with you everywhere. Even getting groceries," J.J. said with a smile.

"Um… but I don't want to be a bother. And you know, I take the bus so…" Spencer mumbled.

Emily couldn't help but laugh again.

"Well, it's lucky for you that we have a nice and roomy government-issue SUV. So it won't be a bother for us to take you. You'd actually be doing _us_ a favor by letting us drive, because it'd make our job a lot harder if we had to try to guard you while riding on a bus full of people," Emily explained.

Spencer laughed lightly.

"Yeah… I guess that makes sense… if you already have the car and all," he agreed.

"Ok," Emily said as she got to her feet and glanced down at her watch. "It's only about 11:00. We should be able to do a quick supplies run and be back in time to get some lunch. Sound good?"

J.J. nodded as she also got up and worked the kinks out of her body. She wasn't going to object to a reason to take a break from the thick stack of files they had waiting for them.

Spencer watched on in fascination as both agents, almost simultaneously, reached for their individual weapons and checked them, chocking them and moving a round into the chamber. He wondered when it had happened that his life was now one in which firearms were required for a run to the grocery store. He knew that over the past few days he had been trying to avoid facing the reality that his life had drastically changed in the course of a few moments. But now that he watched the two women, who had only moments before been playful and carefree, fluidly morph into all-business, and obviously very capable, federal agents, he saw how serious his situation was. Until this man was caught, he could never be left alone. He would constantly have to be watching over his shoulder. Constantly living in fear…

"Hey, Spence," J.J. asked as she pulled a jacket on, effectively concealing the holstered weapon at her side. "You ok?"

"Huh?" he asked, turning his wide eyes on to her. The unexpected nickname had drawn him out of his thoughts. And, blinking, he realized that J.J. had asked him a question.

"Y-yeah… I'm fine," he mumbled quietly.

Emily and J.J. looked at him for a moment but decided not to comment.

"Ok, so are you ready to go?" Emily asked.

"Sure, let me just grab my shoes," Spencer said as he wrangled the neglected bag of laundry and rushed towards his bedroom. He returned a few minutes later, sporting his Converses.

"You really love those things, huh?" Emily asked with a smile as she looked down at the beat up sneakers.

Spencer laughed and looked down at his feet fondly.

"Yeah," he said. "I don't buy too many things for myself. But, I like these. And I actually have a couple pairs in different colors, but… you just can't beat tried and true, you know?"

J.J. laughed and couldn't contain the urge to reach over and ruffle his hair.

"Come on, let's go," she said as she reached over and pulled the door open, escorting the motley bunch out the door.

* * *

><p>Derek grimaced as he stepped into the shabby interior of Xquisite Incorporated, and whipped off his sunglasses. Garcia had given him a rundown on the type of business that took place here, but he hadn't been prepared for how sleazy the vibe would be. Glancing around, he saw numerous posters promoting various types of adult films adorning the walls. Apparently Xquisite Inc. catered to all kinds of tastes.<p>

As Derek walked further down the hall, he began to feel impatient. Garcia had told him the individual he was going to be interviewing would be waiting for him, but from what Derek could see there was no one here. Shoving his hand into his pocket, intending to find his cellphone and reach out to Garcia, Derek's attention was drawn by the sound of a door creaking open at the end of the long corridor.

He looked up and saw a tall man in his mid-30's start to make his way down the hall.

"You the guy with the FBI?" the man asked skeptically.

"Yes, that's me," Derek said as he pulled out his credentials.

"Ok. Someone called me and told me you'd be on your way over, but you looked a little lost so I figured I'd come out here and meet you," the man explained.

"Oh, how'd you know I was out here?" Derek asked, eyebrow raised.

"Cameras," the man said as he pointed to a corner above Derek's head at the opposite end of the hallway.

Derek turned around and squinted up at the inconspicuous corner. He knew that if he hadn't been directed to its location he would never have seen it. It wasn't a common-place dome camera, the type usually used when one wanted the camera's presence to be known and act as a crime deterrent. This seemed to be a concealed camera, used to observe visitors covertly.

Frowning Derek turned back to the man.

"I'm Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan," he said as he held his hand out to the man. "And you are?"

"Danny Wallace, CEO of Xquisite Inc. I hear you want to talk about Demetri Santos?" the man asked, furrowing his brow, but shaking the agent's hand.

"Yes, we have some questions related to his case." Derek explained.

"I… don't really know what I can tell you. That happened almost four years ago. I'm sure I told the cops everything I knew back then," Danny said.

"Well, the FBI tends to have different questions from the local police. Although it was a long time ago, it might help us in a current investigation. Do you think we could just talk for a few minutes, in private?" Derek asked as he glanced around the corridor, looking to see if there were any more cameras.

"Oh, sure, no problem. Come into my office," Danny said as he turned and led Derek back to the door he had originally exited from.

Derek followed behind the man and walked into a large office. Looking around, he saw that the office was probably the nicest part of the building. It was tastefully decorated in a contemporary style that seemed to fit well with the man's image. This Danny Wallace didn't give off an obviously sleazy vibe, as Derek would have expected. Instead, he seemed like an average, casual businessman, dressed in relaxed-fit gray slacks and a dark-blue button down. His skin was lightly tanned and he had dark hair, cut short. He seemed pleasant enough, but Derek noticed that the man's smile never met his dark eyes. He seemed more like a shark. Predatory and opportunistic.

Sitting down in the plush armchair the man gestured to, Derek flipped out his notepad.

"You were working here when Mr. Santos was killed?" he asked.

"Yes, I was one of his employees at that time," Danny responded as he took a seat behind his desk.

"I see. And in what capacity did you work for him?" Derek asked.

Danny drew in an exaggerated breath and sighed, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling.

"I was a scout… I'd walk up and down the Strip seeing if there was any viable talent out there and I'd bring them back to see if they were up to Demetri's standards," Danny said, eyes never leaving the ceiling.

Derek flinched. Something about this scenario niggled at his subconscious. He didn't have a good feeling about Danny Wallace, but he couldn't quite place his discomfort.

"Any of that 'talent' include minors?" Derek asked plainly.

Danny leaned forward and trained his eyes on Derek. He smiled sympathetically.

"Agent, I might not have all the schooling you do, but please don't take me for a fool. You're not going to get me to sit here and incriminate myself. I never engaged in any criminal or illegal activity and had no knowledge of what Demetri was doing in his free time. He was running a legitimate business, for all I knew." he said.

Derek raised an eyebrow and leaned forward.

"I'm sure you paid a very skilled lawyer to tell you to say all that," he replied.

Danny frowned, smile disappearing.

"Agent, I thought you wanted my help?" he asked, staring at the man in front of him challengingly.

"You're right, my apologies," Derek said as he leaned back, a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Tell me what you knew about Demetri."

Danny sighed and shook his head.

"Well, I can't deny it. I know what the cops found. Apparently, Demetri had certain… 'tastes.' It wasn't anything I was in to, and once I found out about it, I made sure that we no longer produced any of those videos," Danny said, a contrite expression on his face.

Derek frowned, unimpressed with the man's words. It wasn't like he had a _choice_ to stop distributing content that basically amounted to child pornography. Once the place was on the cops' radar after Santos' death, an injunction had been instituted against the company. In all honesty, Derek was shocked the company had actually managed to survive after the investigation of Santos. Wallace must have been a very savvy businessman to have been able to keep the production company afloat once he got his hands on it.

"The cops said Santos kept a secret stash of videos. Auditions, they called them. You know anything about _that_?" Derek asked, training his dark eyes on Danny's.

Danny's lips turned down into a frown.

"Look… I knew he had cameras in his office. And his office was usually where he had the new talent 'try out' for him. It just follows that the auditions would be caught on tape. I just didn't think he was saving them… I guess that was his downfall," Danny said with a shrug.

Derek felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance.

_No_, Derek found himself wanting to say. _His 'downfall' was that he was sexually assaulting underage kids. _

Instead, Derek asked, "Do you think it's possible he was sharing those videos with anyone else?"

Danny paused, as if he were really mulling the question over.

"Honestly… it's possible. He never showed them to me, and I never asked. I just didn't find the idea of watching some desperate person fucking an old man all that appealing. Plus, he was pretty indifferent on gender, so I'm sure I probably wouldn't have liked everything I saw. But, I know he had business meetings after hours here. I could see him being the type to show off to his friends, if he had something like that on tape," he admitted, noncommittally.

"Did he have any 'business meetings' scheduled for the night he died?" Derek asked.

"No. The cops asked the same thing. He had nothing on his schedule for that night. And the cops said he was killed between two and three a.m. That was late to be here, even in Demetri's case. I can't think of any reasons he'd have been here at that time," Danny replied.

"Look, I'm going to ask you a question, and tell you that any answer you give me won't incriminate you in any future prosecution," Derek said seriously.

Danny looked at him, unimpressed.

"Well, you can ask away, Agent. There's no guarantee I'm going to answer," he responded.

Derek narrowed his eyes, but then forced himself to relax.

"When they searched Demetri's secret stash of videos, they found the videos were labeled from 1-22. But one was missing. It was number 20. They think whoever killed Santos took that video. Do you know who or what was on that video?" he asked.

Danny leaned back and folded his arms behind his head.

"I told you I never saw the videos, Agent," he said simply

"At this point, I don't care if you turned a blind eye to what Santos was doing. We're not going to come after you now. We think the man who killed Santos four years ago is the same man who killed another person in your city, just last week. He's a _serial_ killer. The more you do nothing, the more likely it is that you could be his next victim," Derek said, sending the man a hard glare.

Danny looked at him carefully, as if he was trying to see if the agent was telling the truth.

He then sighed.

"Off the record," he said as he leaned forward and gave the agent a meaningful look.

Derek nodded silently.

"I never watched the videos," Danny said as he averted his eyes. "But… I was in charge of burning them to discs and labeling them. I can't remember every single one but I know that for the latter part of that year Demetri seemed to only want boys… young ones. I never knew their ages or anything. I purposefully didn't ask. As long as they looked like they were at least in high school—you know, so that we could deny we knew their real ages—I was supposed to bring them in. I never asked them their names, where they were from, what they did… I didn't want to know. And there's no way I can remember who number '20' was, after all this time, but I _can_ tell you that the person on that video is going to be some young boy. That's the best I can do for you."

Derek felt himself grinding his teeth, but he couldn't say anything to the man in front of him. Telling him how he thought he was despicable scum wasn't going to aid in getting the man to divulge any more information. And what he needed right now was information. As much as he could get.

"Was Santos a member of _Mon Petit Chien_? It's a club on-" Derek began before Danny cut him off.

"He was an _investor_ in that club," he said with wide eyes. "He got me a membership."

Derek blinked in surprise. _That_ was unexpected.

"Do you know anything about his business dealings there?" Derek asked.

Danny shook his head in the negative.

"The club opened up a couple years back. Maybe five or six years ago? I was just a talent scout. Demetri wouldn't talk to me about the intricate details of his investments. But, he liked me and wanted to expose me to the types of people who were a part of it. The club was pretty exclusive so him getting me the membership was kind of like him vouching for me," Danny explained.

"So… people use the membership in these clubs as social collateral?" Derek asked, his confusion apparent.

"Yeah, you'd be surprised who's on the membership list," Danny said with a slight smile. "I don't hang out at the actual establishments. I see enough naked bodies in my every day work life. Doesn't really make sense for me to go to a strip club and pay for it. But, I do go to the events. It's good for networking," Danny said.

"Events?" Derek asked.

"Yeah, a few times a month a member hosts a theme party at their house. They hire some of the dancers from the clubs to act as wait-staff. Basically, it's a night of debauchery, and, honestly, anything goes. But, you can meet some really important people at the same time." Danny said with a shrug.

Derek's eyes narrowed. _Was this the 'sex party' Spencer was talking about_? He thought to himself.

"How do people get invited to these things?" he asked.

Danny looked at him curiously.

"Well, it's more like word of mouth. The person who's hosting usually invites their circle of friends, and then they'll tell someone else, etc., etc. The investors and managers always know whenever a party's happening though. They usually attend most of them."

"When's the next party?" Derek asked.

Danny blinked in surprise.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but you're _not_ getting into one of these parties, Agent. I mean, you might be the FBI, and all, but I'm talking really important people here. If they don't know you, you're not getting in. You'd need a warrant, and _good_ luck getting a judge here to sign off on that," Danny said with a laugh.

"When's the next party?" Derek demanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Danny blanched at the agent's stern tone.

"There's one this Friday actually… it's the "Prince's Ball," he said, all humor leaving his voice.

"Where?" Derek barked.

Danny leaned back, as if intimidated.

"I-I don't know. Seriously. I didn't plan on going to this one. The Prince's Ball would've been more _Demetri's_ cup of tea, if you get my drift. The entertainment's strictly gonna be a bunch of young, half-naked guys."

Derek sighed in frustration as he got to his feet. He didn't have any more time to waste on this evasive and apparently _useless_, bottom-feeder. He could probably get better results with Garcia. Shoving his hand into his pocket and retrieving his card-holder he quickly yanked out one of his business cards.

"If you remember anything else, make sure you give me a call." He said as he tossed the card on to the man's desk. "And I hope I don't have to tell you not to go anywhere. I'm sure we'll have some follow up questions for you."

Danny nodded, dumbfounded, and watched as the tall agent strode from the room.

* * *

><p>As Spencer, J.J and Emily strolled through the aisles of the grocery story, Spencer was shocked by how quickly the two female agents had commandeered control of his shopping choices. His shopping habits leaned towards quick, easy, and non-perishable. He also had one hell of a sweet tooth. But the two agents had fussed over him like mother hens, complaining about the certain deterioration of his health if he continued to eat the way he did. They had forced him to get more vegetables (even if they were frozen), whole grains, and other nutritious items. They also seriously reduced his stash of sweet treats. The one place he found himself putting up any amount of a fight was with the coffee, so J.J. and Emily had quickly backed off. And even though he wasn't used to all the meddling, he found himself somewhat enjoying their company. It kind of reminded him of when he was younger and would go shopping with his mother.<p>

Although the trip to the store was comfortable, and almost even fun, Spencer was aware of J.J. and Emily's divided attention. The agents supported each other smoothly, and even though to outsiders it would never look like the two women were law enforcement officers canvassing a supermarket, Spencer could see the ways in which they were communicating with each other. Every time they entered an aisle, either J.J. or Emily would go first. The other one was always right behind Spencer, with her back to her partner and her front facing the opening of the aisle. He was surprised that they could do this without even announcing their intentions.

The two agents had acted similarly when they left the apartment and filed into the large SUV. They had flanked Spencer on both sides and he watched on as their discerning eyes quickly took in all the activity on the streets around them. They had even incorporated their training into how they required Spencer to sit in the car. J.J. climbed into the driver's seat while Emily climbed into the back with him. When Spencer asked why she wasn't riding in the passenger seat, Emily had shrugged and explained that if, for some reason, the front of the car was incapacitated someone would always be in the back to protect him. She had smiled and placed an arm on his shoulder, saying, "We're prepared to do anything to protect you, kid." He had been silent, overcome with the idea that these women could so easily offer to lay down their lives for him. In just the small amount of time he had spent with them, Spencer quickly grew even more of an appreciation for the work that they did.

When they had finished checking out, and were on their way back to the car, the agents made Spencer sit in the car as they packed the trunk. He had really whined about that, thinking it was unfair to make them lug all his groceries, but J.J. had smiled at him from behind her sunglasses and said, "Spencer, trust us. It's easier for us to keep an eye on you back there than it is for us to spend our time trying to make sure someone's not going to take a shot at you." He had blanched at that idea, and J.J. had quickly tried to backpedal.

"Well… this guy's not the shooting type. But, this is just protocol. Ok? We don't mind. You don't have that much stuff," she said with a smile, hoping she had soothed the boy.

"See, all done," Emily said as she wiped her hands and stepped back from the trunk.

Both agents closed the trunk and had soon piled back into the car, with Emily sitting next to him like before.

"See, that wasn't too bad, huh?" Emily asked as she leaned towards the boy and they listened to the sound of the car starting up.

"And we're off," J.J. announced as she pulled out of the lot, heading back to Spencer's apartment.

* * *

><p>The three piled into the apartment about a half an hour later, and Spencer let out a sigh of relief. He was thankful to be back in the familiar safety of his apartment. Although the agents had done a great job at making him feel safe while they were out earlier, he couldn't help but feel tense. He also didn't like the idea that <em>they <em>had been in danger on account of him. That was a lot harder for him to bear. As he placed the groceries on the counter, he watched as the agents made their way into the living room placing down their lunches on the coffee table.

"Hey, when you're done in there come and join us," Emily called out to him.

On the way back to his apartment, the agents had stopped for sandwiches and (again) forced Spencer into accepting food from them. He wasn't used to being spoiled like this and he wondered, for a brief second, whether he would miss all the attention once the case was over and all the agents were gone.

He made quick work of the groceries, packing his cupboards and fridge and was surprised at how full they looked. He hadn't put this much effort into stocking his supplies in a while and it made it clear to him that he probably really wasn't taking very good care of himself. He had been reminded of that more times than he wanted to count over the last few days. By his mother, J.J. and Emily, and, of course, Derek Morgan. The women he was used to. It seemed to be in their very nature to worry about weak animals, and he was sure that, to them, he looked like some injured bird that needed saving. But why was _Derek_ concerned, Spencer wondered to himself.

He believed the agent had been sincere in the things he had said last night. Thinking back on it, Spencer wasn't even sure he knew _why_ he had been so open with Derek in the first place. _Was I just starved for affection_, he asked himself. But even though he couldn't quite pinpoint the reason why he had shared with the agent something that he had never told another living soul, he didn't regret that he had done it. He was sure it was because Derek hadn't reacted negatively. Sure, Derek had been angry when he found out that those things had happened to him and Spencer hadn't done anything about it. But he hadn't seemed mad at _Spencer_, or like he thought it was in any way his fault. Instead, Derek had only seemed mad at the men that had done those things to him.

And then Derek had _hugged_ him… Spencer hadn't been hugged by anyone, other than his mother, in the longest time. And Spencer would've thought himself someone who wouldn't have looked forward to the idea of a hug from an almost complete stranger. But, to Spencer's surprise, the hug had definitely been… nice. It felt good to be enveloped by a warm, protective body. And Derek had felt safe, he smelled good, and it seemed like all he had wanted to do was make Spencer feel better. There was no ulterior motive. Derek was selfless. But Spencer had pushed away… afraid about getting _too_ used to feeling something like that. He knew it was an experience that wouldn't be happening to him often.

Shaking his head, he walked out of the kitchen and joined the agents sitting on his couch. As the three of them dug into their sandwiches and began chatting quietly, Emily soon became aware of the fact that Spencer's voice had all but dropped out of the conversation. Glancing over at him, she watched the boy as he sat with his sandwich in his hands, chewing slowly and staring off into the distance, as if he were lost in thought.

"Spencer… what's wrong with you? Why're you so quiet," Emily said, as an off-hand comment.

The boy in question looked up from his sandwich with wide eyes.

Emily blinked in surprise, as if she hadn't even intended to voice that thought out loud.

"I-I mean… not that you're… you know, you don't really talk a lot in _general_. But, today you were more talkative than usual. Suddenly, you got really quiet. Is everything ok?" she asked.

"Oh…" Spencer said as he placed his sandwich back down on to its wrapper and glanced away. "Um… I guess I've got some stuff on my mind."

J.J. frowned, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Is it about the case…?" she asked carefully.

Spencer blinked curiously as he looked up at her.

"Actually… no… I haven't been thinking about the case much today, as strange as that sounds," he admitted reluctantly.

J.J. and Emily exchanged glances. They weren't sure what exactly could distract someone from a murder investigation involving a serial killer, especially when that killer in question seemed to have taken a particular interest in you.

"So… what's been on your mind, then?" J.J. asked.

"Ugh," Spencer said as he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "I… I don't know. I've just been thinking a lot about a person lately. And it's _really_ been bugging me. I find I can't keep my train of thought and I don't know why. It's extremely distracting…"

Emily and J.J. looked at each other with wide-eyes, both of their mouths slightly parted in surprise. Spencer seemed so frustrated with his thoughts that he wasn't even really aware of their presence or reactions. But both the agents had the same thought crossing their minds. It sounded like Spencer was… infatuated.

"You… can't stop thinking about a person…?" Emily asked, hesitantly.

"Yeah," Spencer said flatly, as he looked up at Emily, the confused frown still on his face.

"Spencer," J.J. said, trying to keep the smile out of her voice. "Are these like… 'pleasant' thoughts, or are you saying you keep thinking about this person because you're mad at them, or they did something to you that bothers you?"

Spencer pursed his lips and furrowed his brows as he mulled over her question.

"No… I'm not mad at them, and they didn't do anything to me. And… I guess thinking about him is… pleasant? I don't know. I wouldn't really categorize my feelings as leaning any particular way. But I just keep thinking about him… even when I don't intend to do it on purpose." The boy said, eyebrows furrowing again, like he was trying to figure out some complicated equation.

"Spencer!" J.J. said as she whacked his arm, this time unable to contain her excitement. "That sounds like you _like_ this person!"

Spencer looked at her, aghast, eyes as wide as saucers.

"_What?_" he asked, as if the mere thought of it was inconceivable.

"You don't know how to tell if you like someone?" Emily asked, eyes wide in shock, but excitement also filling her voice.

"No… I mean… I don't _like_ him. I don't 'like' _anyone_… this is just absurd," he said, shaking his head at them in disbelief.

"Spencer!" J.J. said again, her voice becoming almost painfully high, in Spencer's opinion. "Haven't you ever liked someone before? You know, like a crush? If you're thinking about someone all the time, to the point where it's distracting you from everything else, chances are you have a crush!"

As understanding dawned on Spencer, his face blossomed into a deep shade of red. He couldn't believe it. Could it possibly be true? Had he somehow suddenly become enamored with Derek Morgan? It didn't make sense. Derek was objectively attractive, but that didn't mean Spencer was attracted _to_ him, right? He just thought about him a lot because he was nice. And if anything, it was _Derek's_ fault that he was currently in Spencer's mind. The agent wouldn't leave him alone!

J.J. watched the boy's emotions play over his face with both mirth and incredulity. She couldn't believe Spencer had never had a crush before. He was 19-years-old and, well, he worked as a stripper. On the other hand, Spencer was… different, to say the least. He had been a child prodigy and his life had been nothing but academics up until the age of 15. The fact that he had resorted to this type of job was the only uncharacteristic element. She actually didn't find it so hard to believe that he had jumped from sheltered genius to stripper without taking any of the steps of maturity or life experiences in between.

"Who is it?" Emily asked, unable to control herself.

"What?" Spencer asked, feeling his face get even hotter, if that was possible. "There's _no _way I'm talking to you two about this!"

The two agents placed their hands up in surrender, chuckling slightly, but seeming willing to give the boy a break.

"Ok, ok," Emily said looking pointedly at him. "If you don't want to talk, that's _fine_. But we can't do anything about the fact that your head is filled with…whoever-he-is if you won't talk to us."

Spencer cast a weak glare in her direction and turned back to his sandwich.

Trying to contain their smiles, Emily and J.J. resumed eating as well. As the silence stretched out, the tension coming off the boy became more and more palpable. It was obvious the gears in Spencer's brain were turning at a mile a minute, even though the boy refused to voice his thoughts. Finally, after a few minutes had passed, Spencer tossed his half-eaten sandwich back on the table.

"So… _if_—and I'm just saying this hypothetically—if… I, you know, 'liked' someone… what should I do?" he asked, hesitantly, face flushed in a light pink.

J.J.'s eyebrows went up in surprise. She suddenly felt like they were faced with an unprecedented situation. Sure, she and Emily had been good-naturedly teasing Spencer a few minutes earlier. It probably was because Spencer seemed so serious all the time, and hearing him talk about having a crush had been both surprising and entertaining. But… as federal agents on duty, should they really be spending their time giving an obviously confused boy dating advice? A boy who also just happened to be a witness in their murder investigation and the current stalking victim of said killer. It just seemed a bit…unprofessional.

J.J. glanced at her colleague and Emily could only shrug. She didn't seem to know what the right answer was either. Sighing slightly J.J turned to face Spencer.

"You've never dated anyone before?" she asked carefully, as she caught the boy's light brown eyes with her piercing blue ones.

"No," Spencer said matter-of-factly, no hint of embarrassment in his voice. "It just never appealed to me. And it's not like I'd date any of the people I work with…or my clients."

Emily and J.J. nodded their understanding. It made sense. Spencer spent almost the entire week at the club, where he was likely over-immersed in an artificial world of 'attraction.' It wasn't surprising that he'd want to avoid anything associated with that in his personal life. It made the agents curious, however. If Spencer said he wasn't attracted to his colleagues or clients, who exactly did he meet that drew his attention? And _when_?

"Hmm… well… the first thing I'd say for you to do if you like someone is _flirt_, kid," Emily said, deeming that there was no harm in giving Spencer some advice.

"Flirt…" Spencer said, as if mulling the term over in his head.

He had been _taught_ to flirt. Or, more correctly, he had been taught to be seductive, enticing, and sultry. He wasn't exactly sure that would play out well with Agent Morgan.

"You know, you got to put feelers out to see if he's into you too," J.J. explained.

"So, how do I put 'feelers' out?" Spencer asked, still seeming to have a hard time processing the information.

"Uh…" J.J. said as she glanced at Emily, seeming to be seeking her intervention.

The brunette made a face, but turned to Spencer.

"Well, you can try to get close to him, make it obvious that you like the things he's saying or doing… laugh when he says something funny and make sure to smile at him." Emily explained.

Spencer nodded, face as serious as a student absorbing a vital part of his curriculum.

"And, I guess, if all else fails, touching is always a surefire way to get the point across," she said as she winked at him. "You can find lots of reasons to accidentally brush up against someone."

"Oh…" Spencer said as he blinked in surprise. He then stared down at his hands, thinking carefully.

Emily and J.J. weren't sure if Spencer was put off by their advice, or if he was simply having trouble making sense of it. Before they could inquire further, a phone began to ring. Spencer looked up, recognizing the tone to be his and thankful for a diversion, he scrambled to his feet and into the kitchen, where he remembered seeing his phone last. Both agents looked on as the boy hurried away from them.

When Spencer closed his hand around his phone he frowned to see that it was an unknown number. Feeling slightly apprehensive, he walked back into the living room with the phone still ringing in his hands. J.J. and Emily looked up at him in confusion but when they saw the paleness of his face they both became concerned.

"What's wrong?" J.J. asked.

"I… I don't recognize this number," Spencer said hesitantly, as the phone continued to ring. "Do you think it could be…?"

Realizing what Spencer was suggesting, both agents kicked into action.

"Ok, you're going to have to answer it Spencer, but make sure to put it on speaker. If it's the Unsub, we're going to try to trace it but to do that you're going to have to stay on the phone as long as you can, ok?" Emily said.

In the meantime, J.J was already dialing into Garcia's line.

Spencer nodded numbly and pressed the answer button after the sixth ring.

"Spencer," a chilling voice purred.

Spencer immediately recognized the voice as belonging to the man who had called him two nights ago and he felt his throat close up in fear. Turning to Emily with wide eyes, Spencer nodded silently to her and Emily nudged J.J.. Understanding that they had their suspect on the phone, J.J. got to her feet and quickly walked into the backroom so she could speak to Garcia without interfering with the phone call.

"_Spencer_?" the man said again, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

Spencer could see Emily signaling him to begin talking, and swallowing down his nervousness Spencer followed her instruction.

"U-um… hello?" he asked tentatively.

"Ah, there you are, Spencer! I've missed hearing your voice. How are you, my pet? Have you been good, as I asked?" the voice inquired.

Spencer felt his face flush slightly at the demeaning-nature of the man's words, but he knew he had to respond.

"Y-yes," he said softly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer saw J.J. return from the back room and she gave a thumbs-up to Emily, seemingly signaling that she had been able to get in touch with their technical analyst.

"I don't think that's true, Spencer," the man responded, a hard edge overtaking his tone. "And I don't like the idea of you lying to me."

Spencer blinked in surprise and the two agents frowned hearing the man's word.

"What do you mean? I haven't done anyth-" Spencer began but was sharply cut off.

"What was that _man_ doing spending the night at your apartment then, Spencer!?" the man almost shouted.

Spencer jumped at the sharpness in his tone, and he looked at the two agents in desperation. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say in reference to the FBI's protective detail.

"Derek Morgan was his name, wasn't it?" the man asked, saving Spencer from having to answer him. Apparently he already _knew_ the identity of the man in question. Both Emily and J.J. tensed at this admission. It complicated things if the Unsub knew enough about them that he had their names.

"How could you invite that man to spend the night with you, Spencer? Why do you have to be such a slut? I thought you were better than that!" the man spat.

Spencer blushed furiously, but he also felt himself getting angry.

"I-! It's nothing like that!" Spencer snapped. "He was here to protect me from _you_!"

Emily shot to her feet, ready to rip the phone out of Spencer's hands. She wasn't sure if antagonizing this man was the best idea. But Spencer stepped back slightly.

"Protect you? You think that muscle-bound FBI thug can do anything for you? What's to stop me from coming in there and putting a bullet in his brain while he sleeps? You all think you're so clever, agents? Huh?" the man asked angrily.

Emily and J.J.'s eyes narrowed. They didn't take lightly to the man's threat against their colleague. And it seemed that the man had been addressing them personally. Like he knew they were there.

"I _know_ you're there!" the man shouted, confirming their suspicions. "Answer me!"

J.J stood to her feet and placed a hand on Emily's shoulder as she stepped in front of her and took her place next to Spencer.

"We're here," J.J said calmly. "What can we do for you?"

"Spencer doesn't _need_ you to protect him from me," the man growled out. "I'm the only one that can save him. I've been protecting him all along! We're _destined_! Why don't you understand that?"

J.J. shook her head as she tried to make sense of the man's words.

"We know you want to protect Spencer, but the things you're doing are scaring him. I don't think that's what you really want, is it?" she asked.

The man laughed.

"Who am I speaking to? Is it Emily? Or is this Jennifer?" the man asked.

J.J. flinched.

"How do you know-" she began but the man cut her off again.

"Answer me!" he demanded.

"This is Agent Jareau," J.J. responded in a level tone.

"Ah, Jennifer," the man purred, ignoring her title. "Don't presume that you know what I _want_. Spencer needs to know his place. If he doesn't yet appreciate that I'm what's best for him then he needs to be _trained_ until he does! Stop. Interfering."

Spencer gripped the phone in his hand tightly, disgusted and terrified by the man's words.

"And, Spencer," the man said, voice taking on a sweet tone. "If I see another man staying over at your place, you're going to regret it. Am I understood?"

Spencer felt tears prickling the corners of his eyes, but he found himself nodding.

"U-understood," he breathed out.

And then the line went dead.

J.J. and Emily stared at the phone gripped in his hands in shock. This was not what they were expecting of the Unsub at all. His obsession was more deep-seated than they had originally realized. There was no telling what the Unsub would be willing to do if he didn't get his way.

Snapping out of her stupor, J.J. quickly pulled away from Emily and Spencer and re-dialed Garcia.

"Garcia!" she said quickly once the line had engaged. "Did we get anything?"

"Unfortunately no… I mean, the call was short. Definitely under two minutes, but I didn't even figure I'd need that much time. The guy was using a cellphone this time, but once I locked on to the signal it continued to bounce back and forth amongst numerous towers, as if something was scrambling it. It's impossible to triangulate that. The best I could give you is that he's within a 10-mile radius," Garcia explained, apologetically.

"What?" J.J. asked in shock. "That's impossible… I was sure he'd be somewhere in closer proximity. The way he talked, it was like he could see that we were here."

"That might be so. But if he has some kind of device to mess with the signals, we're out of luck," Garcia explained.

J.J could only sigh her frustration.

"Look, are you guys going to be alright over there? Should I tell Hotch to send additional backup?" Garcia asked, concern evident in her voice.

"No… We'll update Hotch ourselves. I think we'll be fine over here. At this point, this guy's all steam. He seems really worked up, but I don't think he'll make any attempts on Spencer right now. And, even if he does, Emily and I can handle it," J.J. reassured her.

"Ok, stay safe my doves," Garcia said, before she ended the call.

When J.J. turned back to Emily and Spencer, she could see Emily softly stroking Spencer's arm, as if trying to comfort him. The boy looked upset, but his face showed more anger than fear.

"Hey…" J.J. said as she approached them and caught Emily's eyes, as if to ask if everything was ok. Emily just frowned and shook her head.

"So, Garcia wasn't able to trace the call. Apparently this guy's using something to scramble his signal. So she has no idea where he was calling from. I'm guessing he was somewhere close, though. He knew we were here, so it's likely he's been watching us." J.J. informed them.

"This is ridiculous," Spencer finally said as he balled his hands into fists and looked up at the two agents. "Why would he say things like that? Who does he think he is? He doesn't know me! I don't owe him _anything_! And I didn't _ask_ for this!"

"We know that Spencer," Emily said soothingly. "He's obsessed. Sometimes the slightest, inconsequential thing to us, could be the world for someone who's infatuated with you. It could be something as small as smiling at someone in a coffee shop. It doesn't have to make sense to you or me, it just has to make sense to him."

"With that said, it might be best if you just stay in today, Spencer. He seems to be angry that we're here, and we don't want to run the risk of you having a run-in with him at the club," J.J. suggested.

Spencer stared at her in disbelief.

"No," he said, indignantly. "What? Am I expected to just sit cooped up here like a scared animal until you guys catch this maniac? You haven't been doing such a great job of that so far. And last I checked, I still have to eat. I don't have the luxury of just calling out of work."

The boy's tone caused the two agents to flinch. They didn't have much of a defense to his accusations, even though they knew they were doing their best to catch the Unsub. To someone who was living through this, nothing would seem like it was good enough.

"Spencer, we understand that this is a difficult situation for you, but you've got to think about what will keep you safest for the time being," J.J. tried to explain.

Spencer scoffed.

"Look, you have a job to do, and so do I. You're just going to have to figure out how to do it while I work. I can't afford to not get paid," Spencer said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Emily sighed in resignation.

"Then…we'll see what we can do," she offered.

"Fine," Spencer said, some of the edge leaving his voice.

He glanced up at the concerned looking agents, and suddenly felt ashamed of how he had snapped at them.

"Look… Is it ok if I just take some time to myself?" he asked them, as he gestured to the back room.

Emily nodded.

"Sure thing. Take all the time you want. We'll be right out here if you need us," she said with a small smile.

The two women watched silently as the younger male turned and walked down the hall. After hearing the door click quietly behind him, they turned to each other and let out heavy sighs.

"We've got to update the others on this situation. I don't think Hotch is going to like this," J.J. said as she whipped out her phone.

* * *

><p>When Derek returned to the precinct, he was relieved to see that Detective Stone had taken his leave, but he was not expecting to see Hotch and Rossi huddled around the phone looking somber.<p>

"What's going on?" he asked as he took a seat at the table.

"I just got off the phone with J.J," Hotch explained.

Derek sat up straighter. Hotch's statement immediately had his mind running through an endless list of unpleasant scenarios.

"Everything's fine, Morgan," Hotch placated, seeing Derek's panic. "But, they did get another call from the Unsub."

Derek narrowed his eyes.

"What did that bastard want this time?" he asked.

Rossi sighed, while shaking his head.

"Apparently he's been conducting some intel of his own. He knew J.J. and Emily's names… he knew yours as well. He seemed to have been particularly displeased that Spencer had you spend the night. He said some nasty things to the kid regarding that," Rossi said.

"What?" Derek asked, confusion apparent on his face.

"It seems the Unsub read something illicit into your presence there and took that as a betrayal by Spencer," Hotch explained.

"That doesn't make any sense!" Derek exclaimed. "There's nothing like that going on."

"Well, _we_ know that kid. But this guy isn't exactly thinking straight. I'm sure it's just because you're a man and he seems to think he has some type of ownership over Spencer," Rossi offered.

Derek frowned at that.

"Another concerning issue is that the Unsub _knew_ Derek spent the whole night over at the kid's," Rossi pointed out as he turned to face Hotch.

"True," Hotch said with a weary sigh. "So that means he's either sitting watch all night, or he has the place bugged."

Derek paled at the thought, his mind racing over all the case-related, not to mention personal, information that had been divulged in that apartment.

"I'll make sure to have someone go over there and sweep for bugs when Spencer leaves for work today," Hotch said. "And if they find nothing, I think we should do a stakeout. If the Unsub's sticking this close to Spencer we might have a good chance of intercepting him."

The other two men nodded their agreement.

"What'd the Unsub say to Spencer, exactly?" Derek asked, still feeling guilty that his presence had caused Spencer to be subjected to the man's ire.

Hotch watched Derek's face carefully before speaking, as if he was trying to determine whether he should mince his words or not.

"We're not too worried about Spencer, actually," Hotch responded after a moment. "It was the same possessive posturing as usual. We know he's just trying to scare Spencer into submission. What we're more concerned about is that the Unsub specifically threatened _you_. J.J. said he alluded to wanting to put a bullet in your head."

"Fuck that, Hotch!" Derek said in anger. "It's not like I'm afraid of this guy."

Hotch rolled his eyes at Derek's outburst.

"We know that. But, we don't need your presence to be the factor that incites this guy to act," Hotch said seriously.

"So, what, are you going to just leave him to J.J. and Emily? What happens when he threatens to put a bullet in one of them?" Derek asked.

Hotch didn't take Derek's bait. He knew that Derek always wanted to play the role of the 'protector.' He was always going to be the one to volunteer to put himself on the line if it meant he could prevent it happening to one of his colleagues. It was a habit Hotch had talked to him about more times than he could count.

"We're just asking you to be careful, Derek," Hotch said simply. "I can't afford to pull you off of this anyway. It would be too much of a strain on the team to require Prentiss & J.J. to be his exclusive detail. I just need you to know that this guy views you as a threat and if he's likely to attack anyone, it'll probably be you."

Derek nodded quietly, mulling over Hotch's words. He understood what Hotch was saying. He also agreed that it would probably make sense to pull back if it seemed the Unsub was more threatened by a male staying with Spencer than the females. But, it was exactly _because_ the Unsub had gotten angry with Spencer as a result of Derek having spent the night that he felt he wanted to stay by the kid. He didn't want Spencer thinking he was going to turn his back on him as soon as the going got tough. And in any case, Derek was more than willing to take the Unsub on if he ever decided to follow through on his threats against Spencer.

"Morgan, I don't want this distracting you from the big picture," Hotch said, drawing Derek from his thoughts. "What did you find out during your interview?"

Derek sighed his frustration, but flipped out his notebook.

"Ok, the guy I met with was named Danny Wallace. He was working at Xquisite back when Santos was murdered, but now he's the new owner. He's acting all wide-eyed and claiming innocence, but, believe me, this cat knew what was going on behind closed doors. I don't believe he was actually taking part in any of it, but he definitely knew Santos was auditioning minors and was turning a blind eye to it. So if you ask me, he's just as guilty as that sick creep." Derek said, frowning.

Hotch and Rossi nodded. They had expected as much.

"Ok, so was he able to give you anything helpful regarding the night of the murder?" Hotch asked.

"Not really," Derek admitted. "It was a long time ago, and there was no evidence of who came by that night. But, he did tell me that he can say with certainty that the missing DVD would have been of a boy. Apparently that was Santos' preference. Wallace says it could have been possible that Santos was showing a visitor the DVD. He wouldn't put that past him. But what I thought was the most interesting is that Santos was an _investor _at _Mon Petit Chien_," Derek informed them.

"Investor?" Hotch asked.

"Yea, apparently he was one of the people who got the club on its feet a couple of years back," Derek responded.

"So he would've been more involved in the club than an average member," Rossi postulated.

"Yeah, and Wallace says Santos actually bought a membership for him. Not necessarily to use the club's services, but so he would have access to the private events. It was Santos' way of getting Wallace business contacts," Derek said.

"That's interesting," Hotch said to himself. "Our Unsub could very well be connected to the club on the business side, not necessarily on the pleasure side. And here we have mention of those private events yet again."

"Did this Wallace character say anything else?" Rossi asked.

Derek hesitated for a moment, and then sighed.

"Yeah… Wallace said that the investors and managers usually attend every party. And… they'll be having a party this Friday. It's called the Prince's Ball." Derek informed them.

Hotch and Rossi stared at him expectantly.

"Apparently this party caters to those who like their entertainment to be… young and male." Derek admitted reluctantly.

"Oh." Rossi said, simply.

Hotch just nodded.

The three men were silent for a while as they all absorbed the information.

"Look, I'm going to have Garcia see if she can find any information about these investors. I imagine that'll be a much shorter list than the general membership. If she can find anyone who has a connection to the victims, that'll be a good place to start," Hotch said.

He then looked at Derek.

"But, we're running out of time. I refuse to let this guy slip away again, and like I said before, we have an unprecedented opportunity with Spencer. If Garcia can't get us a list of names that's short enough to work with, our best option might be to have Spencer attend that party. Especially if the theme is one in which he fits the criteria. He won't stand out. If the Unsub is an investor and he knows Spencer's going to be there, that might be a way to draw him out into the open," Hotch said, eyes searching Derek's.

Derek fought hard to conceal his emotions and smother his desire to tell his boss how much he disagreed with his plan.

"That runs the risk of putting Spencer into a lot of danger, Hotch," Derek said somberly. "It just… it doesn't sit right with me."

"I understand your reservations. It's not my first choice plan, by far. But we would have no legitimate reason to be entering that party. The only person who could show up there and stay under the radar is Spencer." Hotch said.

Derek opened his mouth as if ready to make his case against this plan but Hotch cut him off with a raised hand.

"I haven't made any decisions yet. If I do, we'll sit down and have a serious conversation with Spencer about the risks. We can't force him to do this, and he has every right to say no if he feels uncomfortable. Ok? So, for right now, let's just table that, and work on trying to narrow down the list of suspects," Hotch said.

Derek nodded his agreement and decided he'd put his faith in his trusted technical analyst.

"Now, let's get Garcia on the line, and see if we can make a dent in this case," Hotch said, determination evident in his voice.

* * *

><p>AN: So, there you have it! It seems some things from the past have come back to haunt Spencer. On top of that, what's a boy to do when he has all these _feelings_ and he has no idea what to do with them? Maybe that boy will try to make a move on the agent who's caught his attention? Who knows… ;P. Guess you'll have to wait and see!

And as a side note, the next chapter might not be out for two or more weeks. I'm currently in the process of interviewing for PhD programs and on top of having to travel out of state, I'll have to use any available time to prep. So, just sit tight! I'll be sure to give you something nice in the next chapter :)


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